1Nadia Rosenberg (username: cocalola) from San Francisco

Fr/De/Au: € 12,- UK: £ 9.50Be/Es/Gr/It /Lu/NL/Port.Cont.: € 10,-

myi likestyle

Quarterly

the first user-generated fashion magazine

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The Beautiful

Fall

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Mash upNew projects, fashion lines, art objects, and photos from the users of ilikemystyle.net

Frida Wannerberger grew up in Lund, Sweden, where she lived in peace for 16 years before moving with her mother to Lausanne, Switzerland. She spent two years battling through high school, surviving only because of the little accessory label she ran on the side.

This fall, Frida, now age 21, will start her BA degree in graphic design at Central Saint Martins in London. She is launching a small collection of accessories and prints and is publish-ing an illustrated children’s book for grown-up siblings. She will share her vision on her blog: pigeophysics.blogspot.com.

Oh, dear. Where to start with this picture? It’s a bit mashed-up, but you can see doll faces, one for Frida and one for her American “petite soeur.” There’s a knee dress, a blacklight Avatar Turkish eyebrow, a mini-Frida, wool boyfriends, and a feather ring.

I initially put the hat together to show my work to a magazine, but I had so much fun that I just kept going. I would wear it out if it would stop falling apart every tenth of a second. The hat base is actually my pillow, as a symbol for the sleep I can never have. Either I wonder about what the polar bear’s grandfather’s name is or if Anubis, the Egyptian god of death, might be in my bedroom. He’s not evil, he’s just…well, his presence can’t easily be ignored.

Oh, dear. Where to start? By Frida Wannerberger / username: featurette from Lausanne

NEwsFlash

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chic kids with problems

My drawings are always of young people. I love pop culture and fashion; I inevi-tably incorporate a few ele-ments or pieces from collec-tions that fascinate me into my work every season – the Miu Miu cat print, for exam-ple. My characters are usu-ally born spontaneously in my head. Boris Vian’s writ-ing inspires me, and bands like Mogwai, The Knife, and Mú are all influences.

I had the image of a crying girl stuck in my mind for a while. I decided to dress her in the Miu Miu print col-lar, thinking it might make her a bit happier. It didn’t help dry her tears, but at least she looks chic while ponder-ing her problems. My style is more about general ambi-ence than a particular tech-nique: depictions of moody, vaguely odd but relatable kids. They have big heads, temperamental faces, and wear heavy patterns. The Commes des Garçons tartan coats and all their signature layering make for a fantas-tic mix – come Fall/Winter 2010, my kids will definitely be wearing them!

By sofija gujina username: debaser from Manchester

I’ve been desperately trying to reach you, but here I am, ‘rejected.’ Mystery makes for the most potent allure, but in your case, calling your appeal alluring is like mistaking a world-class diamond for a plexiglass knock-off’s knock-off. To sum up your look as very ‘Leigh Bowery’ would be an uncouth observation, unbecoming of a magazine of our diversity, since you are a sweetheart, I can tell, and definitely a handsome man as a starter. Searching your username on ilikemystyle.net turns up the ‘Universe of Joko,’ worthy of a Mattel toy line as varied as Barbie’s and a million times more fun. However, my desire to feature you also stems from your timely and uncanny resemblance to the late Alexander McQueen’s Fall/Winter 2010 collection. All the same, the coolest and most creative of our users all managed to travel through space-time and find the steps to your shrine – and left adulating comments on every single one of your looks. Each one could be read as a new book. Here’s my tribute to you – holler back!

dEaresT JokOMartin Cho / username: bucnam from New york on user joko from Berlin

Mash up

NEwsFlash

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Dressing Room PiracyWould a $15,000 Chanel dress change my life? Does a Burberry sweater feel as good as it looks? What’s the best way to wear Christian Dior? Users of ilike-mystyle.net went to some of the fanciest stores in New York, Berlin, and Tokyo and checked the collections for Fall 2010.(To be continued in the next issue. Feel free to send your pictures to magazine@ilikemystyle.net)

NEwsFlash

Kirk Millar (username: kirk) wears Burberry Prorsum sweater and pants.

Right: Judith Innerhofer (username: JuJuJudith) wears Sass & Bide pants, and Chloe Sevigny for Opening Ceremony sandals.

Bottom: Judith wears Charles Anastase fur jacket, Rag and Bone pants.

Heather Jones (username: hjones0117) wears embroidered dress and boots, both by Chanel.

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Cocalola is wearing some guy’s shirt and jeans that are too big for her. Taken at Hotel Nikko, San Francisco by Analog.

Hotels are my Tiffany’s

FaShion

For Nadia RoSeNbeRg (username: cocalola) the world

seems to be one big undercover editorial.

armed with a self-timer, the girl explores her

multiple personalities on her missions from Tokyo to Moscow to San Franscico.

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Lovely tackiness.Gold shoes from Primark, London. Sheets provided by the Econolodge, Tucson, Arizona.

opposite page:St. Basil Cathedral, Moscow, Russia. Taken by Anna Skladmann. Nadia is wearing a traditional Russian shawl and a giant toiletries bag from Target.

Hotels are my Tiffany’s

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Nadia suits me well. But when I lived in Japan, I had to pick a hostess name for my job. This was basically the best thing about the job – the opportunity to call yourself something else. It was pretty obvious that I would call myself Lola. I mean, how could I not?

At first, I would have liked to have a cute Japanese name, so I picked Momoko. But it’s clear that I’m way too rough around the edges to have a darling name that means “peach child.” One lover in Japan said that I am indeed a Momoko, a really fuzzy one (but just as sweet). A prickly peach, if you will. He was a very sweet man as well, but later I found out he was married all the while. Now who’s fuzzy?

I was pretty adventurous to begin with, so I didn’t need to invent an alter ego to go with my crazy, wild side. But to be Lola, I didn’t need to have any decency or shame. Take even the most outrageous of girls, give her an opportunity to go by a different name, and a whole new level of self-decadence will ensue.

I mean, Lola! She was a showgirl with a yellow feather in her hair, and her dress cut down to…there. She got whatever Lola wants, and sometimes she was so aggressive that you’d have to wonder whether she was not a man and how come the champagne you drink tastes just like cherry cola. Lolita would be a too in-your-face kind of reference, but Lola would be just right.

And since I do have a mean bone in my body, when asked to pick a name for Japanese customers to call me, of course I chose two syllables that would be impossible for the Japanese to pronounce. “Lo-ra!” “No baby, not Laura, definitely not Laura Bush.” “Ro-la?” “LO-LA!!!” It’s okay. Japanese men deserved to sweat a little bit, and Lola-chan was going to do it.

When I left Japan to travel to Hong Kong, I wasn’t sure how to introduce myself. But I decided to hang on to Lola, since it was such a fun name and I had no idea how long I would be in a situation where no one knew my name and I got to represent myself however I wanted.

But the real interesting part of that, and of traveling in general, was that though some met me as Lola and others Nadia, I was always the same person. There really was no Lola, it was just a very particularly decadent facet of me. I did not invent Lola to escape myself, but to accept a certain part of myself that was hidden until then. I suppose you can blame it on my Soviet-Jewish upbringing. A mirror is a utilitarian object, there to prevent you from leaving the house with ketchup smeared on your face. It is not to be stared at, not to be paraded in front of in all your finest secondhand clothes. (Who do you think you are, princess? You better wake up from that glass coffin and get to work. Stop eating poisoned apples and braiding your hair and be realistic.)

After Hong Kong, I went to China, where I think I was so confused as to what I was do-ing in that country that I didn’t even care about being called Lola. Plus, Japan was soon becom-ing a distant foggy dream, an island in the sea of amnesia. From there I flew into Uzbekistan,

Hi...i’m Nadia. definitely, i am.

Mr. and Mrs. Washington are wearing nothing at all. Taken at the Best Western President Hotel, Times Square, NY by a certain David “jealous Ben Franklin” Kullmann.

Hotels are my Tiffany’s

Elly

FaShion

22-year old Elly Tran Ha started her career as a Flickr sensation. This summer she starred in her first movie, Saigon Electric, followed by a title role in Vietnam’s first 3D flick. Cinematographer Bao nguyEn (username: baonguyen) from new york explored Elly’s sultry side in Ho Chi Minh City.

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FaShion Elly

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Keep your eyes peeled for these fresh talents from China, Australia, South Africa, Germany, France, and the USA. Users of ilikemystyle.net pick their favorite up-and-coming fashion designers.

newSchool

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clockwise from top left: Ingeborg HarmsJennifer Rubell

Cay Sophie RabinowitzDelusional Downtown Divas

Cordula ReyerDaniel Reich Pom-pom jacket by Gerlan Jeans.

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I love all things broken and unfinished. In my eyes, the rough and individual embodies the ultimate natural and gives instant authenticity – which might explain my infatuation with Ber-lin designers Anne Hilken and Christian Kurt, who partner for the label Anntian. The duo is fascinated by mistakes, disharmonies, and the abnormal. Their clothes are a strangely vexing and unusual take on pauvre bohème. Yet a closer look reveals a keen eye for details: high-end materials and surprising wearability. In their minds, “it’s the people that bring beauty to fashion, not the other way around.”

There’s another thought that these designers and I share: a passion for contrast and dis-covering the hidden beauty in nature. Their Spring/Summer 2008 collection dealt with the clash of high and low tide. Two years later, it was about triangles. Their current collection is all about light and shadow. Anntian’s clothes are by no means direct; you have to approach them slowly to fully absorb their hidden gems. The designers combine contrasting elements into something stormy. Anne and Christian work with exciting graphic elements and intriguing shapes, mixing art and architecture, Constructivism and chaos.

The designers’ most striking feature is their mode of practice. At the beginning of every collection, they build small paper sculptures and use them to develop their patterns. What years ago Viktor & Rolf used as a joke on the fashion industry – an installation of miniatures in lieu of models – the Anntian designers use as a means to translate their wild ideas into multi-referential beauty.

FaShion

A Vexing take on PauvrE Bohème Enrico IpPolito / username: enriCo on the German label Anntian

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Gothic meets comic strip superhero is not the obvious hybrid one would expect from the Rain-bow Nation, but Suzaan Heyns begs to differ. She is one of the most original designers in South Africa and her work excites me a lot. Culling inspiration from architecture, old medical instru-ments, and sketches from the 1800s, Heyns creates garments that exemplify beauty, form, struc-ture, and craftsmanship. Her designs are worn by the most experimental rather than the fashion P.O.W. Black plastic lips, mesh wimples-cum-headpieces, latex hoods: the deliciously paired combination makes me want to lick her face! I prefer her designs for women to her menswear because that’s when she unleashes her full palette of colors and fabrics, making every look Smarties for the eyes.

She determinedly moves away from the cliché of the bright colors and beadwork endem-ic to the so-called South African aesthetic. There is a lot of talent in South Africa, as evident in numerous street style blogs, but the works produced by local designers hardly tend to be excep-tional. This is another reason why Suzaan Heyns’s universe jumped right out at me with her loud and proud boundary smashing. After all, smudging baby powder on clothes and savaging metal sheeting to create sculptural headpieces are her daily bread. She manages to playfully contradict her own ideas every season without losing her aesthetic train of thought. Her previous Spring/Summer 2009 collection was a stunning opposition to Fall 2010’s fashion wardens from District 9, in which she skillfully used the magic of origami to create body-conscious silhouettes. The colors were daylight brights to Fall’s moody dark neutrals, and the overall look was as fresh as skinny-dipping in a waterfall.

I believe that she could conquer the international world of fashion with her unique fla-vors intact. Suzaan Heyns is definitely one to keep your eye on.

SMudged BabY Powder and SavaGE Metal FionA Fraser / username: mEanatosome on the South African designer Suzaan hEyns

newSchool

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FaShion

He’s a party boy who seamlessly merges Chilean, Swedish, and Catalan influences. Though today he’s still straying through the streets of Barcelona, tomorrow he might be gone – London, Tokyo, the beach…who knows. Here’s Nika SCHeidemaNdeL (username: nikabianca) from Cadiz on the phone with BiLLy CriSTiaN (username: billy) from Barcelona.

credit!!

Careless Whispers

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Careless Whispers

60 jackets and one sheet: Billy’s bedroom. ph

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Tell us a little bit about who you are, and how you ended up in Cataluña by way of Chile and Sweden. I saw your pictures. You have a great face – though not very Swedish. Ready?

Billy: I’m ready. My name is Billy – actually, my real name is Cristian. But after I moved away from home when I was 15, I started my own life as Billy. I’m 22 years old, and my parents are from Chile, but I was born and raised in Sweden in a little city called Gävle. I moved to Uppsala where I studied visual merchandising, exhibition design, and market-ing, and also worked in a Levi’s store. After a couple years in Uppsala I moved to Oslo, Norway, and my plan was to work a lot and save some money. But Oslo had nothing for me – that city is so small and so dead that I panicked and decided that I needed sun, fun, and good parties! So I packed my bags and left for Barcelona...and here I am.

Can you describe the Catalan style?Oh, it is just horrible; they shave their heads but leave dreads on the back of their necks. Their shoes are too big and they carry ugly purses around. I love them anyway, though; they’re beautiful in their own way. But I’m a person who always needs something new. I’ve had the most fun in my entire life in Barcelona. But London is calling.

You’re doing great so far. Are you comfortable? And what are you wearing?I always wear comfortable clothes. Shorts, Vans, a cap, and a tank top. I’m sitting on my bed.

What’s your bedroom like – favorite sheets?My bedroom is pink; it’s big and makes me feel safe. I love that there is enough space for my clothes – well, almost – and that I have a balcony. I am not going to lie and say that I have some favorite bedspread because I only have one, and it’s black.

Your personal blog is in Swedish so I couldn’t really get a sense of what you’re all about. What kind of mes-sage are you trying to convey?

My blog is more like a diary. I write what I feel. Sometimes I only write when I am sad, or when I want to mention a good party. And you can always use Google Translate if you want to understand it some!

What do all the Swedes in Barcelona have in common?We come here for the same reason – to get away from the cold weather and the unexciting people. Though I miss the fresh air, the food, the water. It just tastes sweeter in Sweden.

And your family is still in Sweden? How’s your relationship with them?My family is my everything. It’s hard to describe the love we have because I know it’s super-special. My parents have been married for over 25 years and they had their first baby, my older sister, when my mother was 15 years old!

I’d love to meet your parents. Can you describe their style so I would be able to dress appropriately for the occasion?

My father is rock ‘n’ roll, he has long hair, and is very cool and funny. He loves to steal my clothes – when I saw him in Sweden he was wearing my Converse shoes! My mother is a shopaholic, I got that (and my nose) from her. When she came to visit me in Barcelona she left with seven pairs of shoes and my father forbade her from buying any more shoes,

FaShion Careless Whispers

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Nika: Hello, Billyboy, why don’t you iNtroduce yOurself?

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smartypantzAnatomy of a revolutionary vehicle: Artist MArtin Fengel (username tino) takes a close look at the new generation of urban mobility - smart fortwo cabrio & coupé and smart fortwo electric drive.

smart & ilikemystyle Quarterly present

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smart & ilikemystyle Quarterly present smartypAntz

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Besides vuvuzelas, Eat Pray Love, and Michelle’s holidays in Spain, there were also some real issues this summer: the Greek-German Euro spat, continuing troubles at the Mexico-US border, and the Turkish flotilla ambushed by Israeli forces. Users of ilikemystyle.net from these countries got to talking.

StOries

Concept, matchmaking, production: Michael Ladner / username: aPollinaris

Hande username: selofan

Girl vs. Girl

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HandE: HeyMOnICa: Hi!HandE: How are you?MOnICa: Nice to meet you finally. I am good, a bit sick, but otherwise cool. My birthday was

yesterday and I had a big party.HandE: Wow :) Happy birthday.MOnICa: Thanks!HandE: You’re a Leo.MOnICa: I sure am. It’s practically written on my face. What do you study?HandE: I’m studying accessory design at the fine arts university. You?MOnICa: Nice! I am a writer and a documentary filmmaker. My sister is a textile artist. And

my other sister is an interior designer, so I appreciate your world :)HandE: Oh, that’s so nice for you and your family. I have no sisters or brothers. I’m the only

one who loves design and art hehe…MOnICa: That means you are unique :) I visited Turkey for the first time last year – it was

amazing!HandE: Where?MOnICa: I was on a boat for two weeks in the south, starting in Bodrum, hopping around from

port to port. Then four nights in Istanbul.HandE: I’m in Izmir.MOnICa: Nice. Were you born there?HandE: I was born in Sakarya, near Istanbul. Sakarya is a conservative town. But Izmir is the

opposite. All the people are so relaxed.MOnICa: That’s a good atmosphere for a creative type – relaxed. Tel Aviv is the same – relaxed

and fun.HandE: You see retired people in their 20s.MOnICa: Here too! A culture of fun. That’s how life should be! There’s too much negativity in

the world as it is. We should all be sitting in the sun with a cocktail and a smile.HandE: Sure!MOnICa: Have you been to Israel?HandE: I haven’t yet. But I really want to. How do you know ilikemystyle.net?MOnICa: I was referred to it by a designer/publisher here in Tel Aviv, who is in Berlin now.

And you?HandE: I’ve been a user of ilikemystyle.net since it began.MOnICa: Your profile is super cool.

Turkey vs. Israel

ISrael vs. TurkEy: ThE nOn-Political GEnerationBy MOnICa HaIM (username: Monica812) from Tel aviv and HandE SaadET (username: Selofan) from Izmir

HandE: Thanks :) I think you have beautiful and stylish photos.MOnICa: I am actually not photogenic at all, so I don’t have that many pics, but I will take

some and keep adding.HandE: How is Israel? I have heard all the political news, but it must also be different being

there.MOnICa: The crazy thing here is that there are so many opinions. You have the hardcore right,

the hardcore left, and everything in between. I am curious to hear how an art-pub-cafe city like Izmir feels about Israel/Israelis?

HandE: Actually, Izmir is a more liberal part of Turkey. In Izmir, the government is also more to the left, the exact opposite of other towns. And our left is against the right. Everyone says: “atheist/Christian Izmir” about our town.

MOnICa: So what do people in Izmir think about what happened recently between Israel and Turkey?

HandE: I heard that Israel publically snubbed our ambassador, and Israel’s attack on our ship carrying aid to Gaza. I cannot understand why they are behaving like that. And people in

moniCa username: monica812

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Bedside Stories

StOries

What used to be a place to dream and make love is now often a hybrid style haven/multimedia

center. Users of ilikemystyle.net on their beds and the people, things, and animals they can’t

sleep without.

by Filippo Falleroni Bertoni / username: filippo from FerraraMy WiFe and Our Unborn Son

I usually sleep in just my underpants all year round. My wife says I’m a stove! I only like to keep a few things close to my bed: my iPhone (without it I don’t wake in the morning!), a book of erotic Japanese prints that was given to me

for my birthday, and a picture of me as a child. I like to sleep on our futon always wrapped in cotton sheets (colorful and often striped), and gradually

slide into the night with my head falling off the pillow and almost off the bed – I love to sleep! Every morning I wake up, kiss my wife and her beautiful

tummy, wash myself, I dress, mount my old vintage bike, and fly to the shop where I work. I can say that I am very lucky!

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by Joachim Bessing / username: jbessing from BerlinDream of Me as the Happy Man

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I’d been warned many times over the years, but I never thought it could be that bad. Yet after having done Peru, Hong Kong, and San Francisco within a few weeks, I lost my Koerperzeit (circadian rhythm) somewhere in one of the airports, or maybe in a hotel room, and I was left on one of the most hor-rible frequencies the mind can tune into: insomnia, AKA the “Hammer of the Gods.” After three months without any sleep, my mind was in a state that felt beyond suicidal, beyond hysterical, beyond nirvana. I had almost completely

lost hope that I could ever recover. It was around that time that the people from Hästens offered me one of their beds. The beds are hand-crafted in

Sweden, made of two extremely thick, extremely heavy and extremely soft…let’s call them “units” – a far cry from any other piece of furniture called a

bed. A Hästens is something else. A nation that raised their people from day one in Hästens could surely rule the world but would refuse to do so – they

already would’ve reached that enlightened state of mind the Dalai Lama claims to have a monopoly on.

I had to move and find an apartment that would present my loved one in the most perfect way. My bedroom has now become the center of my life; I do

almost everything in or on my bed. The picture hanging above the Hästens is a panoramic shot of an entire girls’ school from 1964. I often study the hundreds

of girls’ faces. Some of them are blurred because they had to laugh or shrug while the photographer tried to get them all right. It also reminds me of my favorite movie, Mortelle Randonné, in which one of the characters plays a

very cruel game using a similar photograph.Also crucial is a stack of good books. Most of them I choose for their com-plicated titles or for the design – I judge books by their covers and I like to

show off. These nights I’m reading Über die Seele by Katja Crone, Tomboy by Thomas Meinecke, and Imperial Bedrooms of course. An item I really use a lot in bed is the so-called Inspektionslampe (inspection light), basically a flashlight. It’s black, very flexible, and very useful for almost every purpose. And then the black Fisher Space Pen, which is another trusty companion because it lets me

write while lying on my back – the Space Pen writes even upside down (and in space). Everything else I have to do, I do on my iPad. I don’t have trouble

sleeping anymore. You can dream of me as the happy man.

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by chanTal BlatzHeim / username: chantal from BrusselsDiamonD StUds

StOries

Tivoli Audio Clock, a bottle of sparkling water (usually Perrier), my cell phones (iPhone and Blackberry), my platinum wedding ring, my engagement ring, chunky wood and metal bracelets, big golden earrings, diamond studs. I usually read a few books at the same time, some about photography because I am doing a PhD on the history of photography, and others to relax: Susan Sontag’s About Photography, Milan Kundera’s The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Colum McCann’s The Dancer, Roland Barthes’s Camera Lucida:

Reflections on Photography. Newspapers (Die Zeit, Süddeutsche Zeitung) that I did not manage to read the day they came out and try to read on the week-

end. A babyphone, pictures of my loved ones, Chapstick, Kleenex. And a few magazines like Paris Vogue, Grazia, and others.

BedsideStories

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Driving across the absolutely horrendous roads in Iran. Soon, one of the Land Rover’s fan blades broke off and flew into the radiator. The Overlanders tried to reattach it with chewing gum.

Around the World in 80 Flats

StOries

It was almost 50 years ago and the world was a different place, full of dirt roads and unknown territories. In 1962 a group of 20-somethings drove from London to Melbourne by car. Everything broke down, but it didn’t hurt their adventurous egos. They called themselves ThE OvErLandErS.

Sam Cate-Gumpert / username: SaMm from Brooklyn consulted the Overlanders’ archives by Tim Groome and spoke with richard Banham.

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In 1961, bored of working in London, Angus “Gus” Gibbs, Timothy “Tim” Groome, and Alan (not “Al”) Stewart decided to take a trip. The plan was hazy: just get out of England and indulge in youthful wanderlust. After a series of false starts and several pints in a Chelsea pub, and with the addition of Lawrence “Larry” Ford, an Australian trying to get to Melbourne, they formu-lated a concrete plan: London to Melbourne, over land, in two Land Rovers. The four rapidly roped in friends and relatives and set about planning their trip. Leaving in August of 1962, the group decided to travel through Asias Minor and Major, through countries that today are all but inaccessible to westerners. They lined up sponsors, including Wrigley’s (for chewing gum) and Benson & Hedges (for cigarettes). Their Rovers experienced about 62 mechanical failures, consumed 913 gallons of petrol and traveled 14,938 miles, across 12 countries and two conti-nents: France, Luxembourg, Germany, Austria, Yugoslavia, Greece, Turkey, Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan, India, Malaya, and Singapore. They had to take a boat to Australia.

This kind of youthful adventure was only possible back then, before the age of Ry-anair, Wi-Fied airports, inflatable vinyl pillows, and Skype. These nine 20-somethings (and one 37-year-old German ex-prisoner of war) are the archetypes for every waxed canvas–clad fashion plate dreaming of sand, oil, and authenticity. Just look at those outfits.

A trip like this is always magical in retrospect. You remember playing rugby on a de-serted island off the coast of Singapore, the generous Pakistani farmers who fed you steak after months of bruised tomatoes and bread, the endless rum and cokes served on the British naval frigates that kindly carted your Land Rovers from Calcutta to Penang. But in reality the journey was plagued by a panoply of mishaps: the Aussie rugby men roughed you up; the sand burned skin off your feet; the delicious dinner was the result of your tripmate’s thoughtless proclama-tion, “I’d kill for a steak,” forcing the overly hospitable villagers to kill their only cow. Those rum and cokes weren’t actually free – in fact they cost you the last of your precious sterling.

Not to mention the border hold-ups, the constant culture clash, the black-market swin-dles, and, far beyond anything else, the absolutely endless equipment failures of the two old Land Rovers. Really, it was a miracle that the Rovers made it across the miles of unpaved roads, not to mention the dense traffic jams of Tehran; the abused vehicles even found themselves dangling, at one point, in a jury-rigged cradle over the port in Calcutta, onto an Australian naval frigate for the last leg of its journey. Oh, and the flat tires. In the words of Richard Banham, the Overlanders’ journey was something akin to “around the world in 80 flats.” Or thereabouts. London to Melbourne, with 15 punctured tires – according to their logbook. It sure felt like 80.

It was the kind of undertaking only possible for a bunch of 20-something-year-olds: Gus Gibbs, 24; Tim Groome, 23; Alan Stewart, 22; Larry Ford, 24; Joseph “Jim” Stich, 37; Margaret “Maggie” Rought-Rought, 19; Valerie “Sam” Anstis, 25; Richard “Rik” Banham, 24; Patrick “Pat” Culshaw, 22; and Anthony “Fitz” Fitzgerald, 21. Only in your third decade of life do you still retain the thirst for adventure, the restlessness, and the right mix of inflated self-assurance and naïveté to really commit. The lack of steady, secure employment didn’t hurt either.

An epic journey as such also meant setting off without having properly tested all the cru-cial equipment. Pots and pans, for instance. And beds. After the first night’s drive, which began in France (the Land Rovers were flown in), the group set up camp. They pitched their single tent, meant to accommodate all ten members of the group. They lit their camp stove, which almost exploded in their faces. As the water came to a rapid boil, the plucked ducks donated by Mag-

Sam smoking hookah in Pakistan. She had bad luck with hookahs – in Iran, she was bedridden for three days after smoking from a communal pipe in a bazaar.

Around the World in 80 Flats

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Music makes the people

There’s talent in everyone, from air guitar to opera. Plus, instruments make excellent accessories. The pop stars of ilikemystyle.net share their passions and playlists.

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username: julie182 from Oizumi

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Christian’s playlist:

1 “Piano Man” by Billy Joel 2 “Kill Your Friends” by CS Rockers 3 “Idioteque” by Radiohead 4 “I Wanna Be Me” by Sex Pistols 5 “Battery Acid” by Queens of the Stone Age 6 “I Can’t Put My Finger On It” by Ween 7 “Valse in a Flat Major, Op. 64 No. 3” by Chopin 8 “I Need a Dollar” by Aloe Blacc 9 “Beautiful” by Christina Aguilera10 “Concert No. 3 in D Minor” by Rachmaninov

CHristiaN Kirberg / username: rio13 from Berlin

“I love music and I love to make music, but I can’t sing nor play any instrument at all well. No reason for me to stop trying. I was singer in a band when I was a teenager and I wrote a lot of lyrics in my rudimentary English (i.e., “I am a millionaire, I have the millions yeah. I just look like a cow, but I am happy now”). Now I am playing in an-other band as drummer with my flatmate (on guitar) and another friend who is playing bass (actually he plays any instrument better then us). We are called Muri Kimmer. Muri Kimmer used to be a Finnish solo artist, but he got sick, so we act in place for him. We would love to perform for large audiences but the large audiences don’t want us to perform for them. I am working hard on my breakthrough, but I need to face reality: I am the worst musician on Earth.”

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Fashion is only as good as the people who look at it. Experts from the visual arts on some of the finest photos from ilikemystyle.net.

clOSe- upS

kulturkritik

Who doesn’t love a she-male named after a state? Texas here is giving us classic walk of shame, drag-style. If the walk of shame had a Hall of Fame, she’d be the first inductee. Notice the dirty sequin halter top, the furry things on her hands, the oversized sunglasses, the wayward wig, the pilot’s hat that could only have materialized over the course of a bender. Now look at the ratty jeans and sneakers. These could be the items that the last of her night’s paramours let her have if she would “just leave.” Let’s face it: this hot tranny mess has fantastic style!

Texas reminds me of the time, a million eons ago, when I was approached by Björk at a downtown club in New York. It was the 90s, and I was super skinny at the time, almost as skinny as Texas. I had on a bandeau top just like this one (sans dirt), some enormous afro wig just as in-tentionally cheap-looking as this one, leather thigh-highs and the tightest, shortest denim shorts on the planet. Björk said to me, in her squeaky voice that sounds like a child or like she’s about to go crazy on your ass, “Pardon me. I don’t mean to be rude, but can you tell me if you’re a boy or a girl?” Somehow I kept my cool and answered truthfully, but on the inside I was so stunned and star-struck that I almost lost my tuck!

Lee Carter is the editor-in-chief of Hint Fashion Magazine. He lives in New York.

Hot tranny mEss memorieS by LeE Carter

texas from Bochum

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Haidee Findlay-Levin is a stylist. She lives in New York.

Please, a LittlE more tHOught to the GlassES by HaideE Findlay-Levin / username: haideefindley

I just can’t help myself. I am compelled to examine the style of Spjork, a fellow glasses wearer, but funnily enough, her glasses are the least compelling part of this picture, with plenty room for improvement. They add a seriousness (don’t all glasses do that?) but lack the clarity of vision she clearly has in the rest of her look. Don’t get me wrong; my criticism is strictly constructive – you can see that I’m already impressed with her state of dress. And speaking of dresses, I love the simplicity of her pale gray A-line one, enough to inspire Miuccia for a whole season. It’s that dusty, elephant gray – so neutral that it’s almost nude. It’s the perfect nail polish color; I obses-sively trawl for it from salon to salon. And here she is, wearing a whole dress of it, matching belt and all. She is so wonderfully fearless – no need to break the flow of gray, like an endless sky over the horizon. To me, there is nothing more calming than monochrome. No interruption, no annoying need for ‘contrast’ accessories.

This dress makes me believe that she’s confident, that she has conviction, and not only in her sense of style. She isn’t swayed by trends since she knows what suits her. She likes the 70s. So do I. It’s hard to imagine her in trousers; she seems so perfect in a dress. But if she were to wear some, I would imagine that they would be as high-waisted as her dress, as fitted over the hips as her skirt, and they would flare out into wide legs that would fall over varnished wooden-heeled shoes, or better still, over the same tan leather spectators she is wearing now. Her blouse would be neatly tucked into the trousers and secured with – what else? – a belt that perfectly matches its waistband.

Her only real, noteworthy accessory is her guitar. I imagine she sings solo. Blues. Indie. Soul. Please don’t tell me it’s country. I don’t know why, but her hair suggests it’s something retro: lyrics borrowed from another era, the songs the experiences of others. I don’t mind. She’s young, with plenty of time and confidence to have her own. At the same time I’m prepared to be completely wrong, to be surprised by her taste in music. But please, a little more thought to the glasses – may I suggest something quite large and curved, unpredictable, nude? Two-toned even, with a semi-tinted lens – grey or rose-hued, of course.

kulturkritik clOSe- upS

sPjork from London

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Daily Bread

Do try this at home. Robin KRanz

(username: robin) and VolKeR Hobl

(username: vlkr) share images and recipes from their fabulous

food blog, taeglichbrot.tumblr.com.

Kulturkritik

Blueberries and milk, shrimp salad on black bread, pear juice and ice cream.

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Kulturkritik

Suckling pig on Olaf ’s houseboat

Daily Bread

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This season’s most accomplished fashion stories. Broken down, reconstructed and worshipped by the editors of Ilikemystyle Quarterly.

With Compliments

KulturkriTik

V #66 V’s “Footballers’ Wives” is a monster truck rally of an editorial. Photographed by Sebastian Faena and styled by Carlyne Cerf de Dudzeele, it features a series of trashezoid faux-tabloid layouts packed with lip liner, bronze-scaped tits, bling, and aspirational handbags. There are pouty male models clutching soccer balls, gold snakeskin, thigh high fur boots – and that’s only the first few pages.

Meet the cast. We have Dree Hemingway – up to now my favorite spread of her was in Vogue Korea in black lipstick and diamonds, and here she is furred over with leopard – just leopard up the waz, draped on the hood of a Ferrari. Then there’s Constance, in a G-Star denim jacket and cutoffs, sporting D&G rhinestone-encrusted ski goggles and a Chanel purse that looks 100% made in China.

What’s insane – and this is legitimately a feat – is that V pulls it off. The editorial does not snarl at the viewer with an evil I know you know we know you know glint in its eye. In-stead, the spread is open before me, and there is Maryna, wearing a fringed leather jacket, cut-offs, gold belt, bamboo-textured gold hoops, gold bolo tie, gold Rolex, and monogrammed LV Speedy, plus a beige baseball cap with a pair of mail-order bride spangled sunglasses, while she BREASTFEEDS A PLASTIC INFANT DOLL in a tiny Adidas jersey, and I am staring at this seriously, like entirely convinced of its pleasurableness/veracity.

It’s possible that 90% of the vérité quality of this image comes from the angle of the model’s wrist holding her phone. For a long time I wanted a Blackberry exclusively so I would have reason to torque my wrist that way (it’s totally different than the iPhone clutch, way sexier and nastier). Which begs the inevitable question: is this about consumption? Sure. It’s also about paparazzi, Ed Hardy, Restylane, The City, the New Ugly, Electric Youth! – but thank god, mostly about the plain Quotient of Pleasure derived from looking at an image, post-taste.

Tastelessness is juvenile in a good way. These images bypass whatever lame, tempered, semi-adult taste I might currently have and go straight for the parts of my brain left over from when I was a kid – just a crude cultural instrument whose mother had to explain to her that those glitter-encrusted shoes were ‘tacky,’ or that I should STOP furiously taking notes during a tour of a Newport mansion because it all but condemned me to being a faggy interior decorator. Not to mention, there are plenty of photos of me from preschool, around the time my little brother was born, pretending to nurse a plastic doll. Stars, they’re just like us!

“Footballers’ Wives” is all surface tension, tabloid distillate – you know, fashion. At its core, the spread works the Wintour-led conflation of celebrities and models to great effect: since the backstories of most tabloid images really aren’t that important anyway, V just does away with them. Who knows, these models could be famous Eurotrash celebs – after all, the Chanel looks fake, the tattoos look real, and oh yeah, there’s a plastic baby in most of the shots. But I’m certainly not about to play the vigilante – this editorial has transformed me from a citizen into a vulgarity processing station, and I’m having too much fun.

by emily Segal / username: rIPyourself

V #66“Footballers’ Wives”

photographer: Sebastian Faena stylist: Carlyne Cerf de Dudzeele

KulturkriTik

209

Pit bulls on the dance floor, the kindness of strangers, and generous amounts of excess. Snapshots from the beautiful trap called nightlife – plus fact sheets about the hours between the first shot and dawn.

Remember where you lost it

KUlturkriTik

pawkid from Melbourne in Barcelona

read on page 212

★

215

kiRkDify from new York on the roof of his apartment

read on page 216

★ ★ ★

KUlturkriTik Rememberwhere YOu lOSt it

217

KUlturkriTik Rememberwhere YOu lOSt it

When? Early May. Molly, Zoe and I had just completed our college degrees and we’d met Peter a couple days earlier.

Where? It was taken on the rooftop of our apartment. We’d taken acid the night before.

Most important people? A random guy we heard about who was selling acid on the balcony of a party we were at for the band of a friend of a friend.

Topics? The universe. Performance. Gender. Sex. Aging. Cigarettes. Fear. Seclusion. Paolo, our cat. Music. Colors. Time. Energy. Ashlee Simpson. How happiness and the meaning of life only exist in the present moment. Internal-izing your own messages. Kelly, my ex-boyfriend. Destiny. The emergence of

form from nothingness. Paradox. Dead fish. What were you wearing? I was wearing pink shorts that I’d gotten from

American Eagle when I was still in high school, my roommate’s sunglasses, ratty boxers that I stole from my sophomore year roommate, and a necklace I

found in our costume box. What was special? We’d just finished college. We were at the end of our first

acid trip. The sun was shining. There was a cute boy. Soundtrack? “Williamsburg Rooftops” by Peter Kelly himself, “Outta My

Head” by Ashlee Simpson, “Bulletproof” by La Roux, “Sweetest Thing” by Camera Obscura, “Go Long” by Joanna Newsom, “Mister” by Molly Vila, and

“Sincerity 4Ever” by Kirkdify.Other people? Peter Kelly (username: scoparli) is being sexy and seducing us

all with his aloof flirtation, genuine kindness, and enthusiasm. He’s finding

acid and Parallel UniVerses

by KiRk DUval / username: kirkdify from new York

a song he wants me to hear on the headphones. He’s also sneaking sideways glances at Zoe’s breasts – she’s sunbathing. I’m looking at a magazine about

skiing which I have no interest in, but I’m acting like I have no interest in Peter. Molly Vila is improvising on guitar.

Transportat ion? After we took acid, I remember being the first to decide it was time to leave the party, and in a panic I ran into the bathroom and collected the girls who needed to be collected. We made a dash for our

apartment, which we got to in a cab thanks to the assistance of our only so-ber friend. We spent the rest of the night in our apartment making a ruckus until it was late morning, when we ventured down our fire escape and out

onto the roof.Drink/St imulat ion? We drank a lot of alcohol. Dropped acid. And smoked a

lot of weed. The acid really took the cake. Highl ight? I had a moment with Peter where he telepathically told me that he loved me and then I realized that it had really happened only in an alternate universe which caused a chain reaction of epiphanies: there is a universe of universes in which every possible outcome is played out, our imaginations are only glimpses into these other universes, everything that emerges in our universe is inevitable and required. I also shared some really special quality

time with Paolo, our cat.Sex? Yes. With Peter. In a parallel universe.

Sleep? Long after this day was over I finally fell asleep. I was the only person in my bed. I think I slept for years.

★ ★ ★

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by MaUlde cuerel / username: ingoldWetrust from geneva

thanKS to the lOvely Miley cyruS

When? Spring break 2010.Where? We were in Barcelona. We started the evening in little local bars

where we had a couple of beers sitting on skate ramps while watching surfer movies on old school TVs. The picture was taken in a little bar called Never-

mind or something like that. Most important people? We stayed in a pretty creepy apartment where we

shared toilets with 20 other people – a real Spanish hostel. But it was still fun because we didn’t sleep much, thanks to my best friends Coline and Lavinia.

Topics? We talked about Spain and how much fun our holidays had been!What were you wearing? Jeans by H&M, top by Primark, coat by Zara, and

the fragrance Daisy by Marc Jacobs.What was special? It was the last night of our trip, so we did absolutely what-

ever we wanted to!Soundtrack? “I Gotta Feeling,” “Poker Face,” and “I Know You Want Me.” We were delighted to hear “Party in the USA,” thanks to the lovely Miley

Cyrus. Luckily, we were drunk enough to find it amusing.Other people? For our last night out, we met a very funny and very rich guy from Dubai, which was the most perfect coincidence because we were three

girls who wanted to party hard on their last night out, but we had only 8 Euros left! He invited us to this very classy nightclub where we met these dumbass

American college boys who told us that they “looooved” Swedish girls. Then we told them that we were actually from Switzerland, not Sweden...so that was that.

Transportat ion? Metro and cab. We didn’t have enough money to pay the cab driver at the end. I remember the taxi driver’s face when he asked for 15 Euros, and we proudly offered him our last 2 Euros and 50 cents...and ran off. Oops!Stimulat ion? I didn’t smoke but I drank. Maybe too much. After yet another round of tequila, the most sober of us realized we had to speed back to the

hotel, pack our bags, and leave.Highl ight? What happens in Barcelona stays in Barcelona...

until you read about it.Sex? Haha, what a question! No, I didn’t.

Sleep? Our flight was at 7am. We slept for like 30 minutes in a creepy restau-rant before the flight. Then: “Oh Shit! Where’s my Blackberry?” One of my friends had forgotten it in the X-ray security check.

KUlturkriTik

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The

words hardboiled interviews, deep-

digging chitchats about fashion and literature, semi-serious

writing about sex and diplomacy, and off-the-cuff essays by

users of ilikemystyle.net on the phENomENa of our world.

plus a gracious nod to the ever-amazing donatella Versace.

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Retroactively reinstate feminity as an icon?Talking points: Alexander Wang cat eye sunglasses, the acid green haze of a veil, the disputable blessings of mad men style, truisms of soccer players, and handbag-bashing in Berlin. Plus: the affrontery of hats.

Ping Pong Review i:

On Aug 2, 2010 at 3:23 PM Emily Segal wrote:

Dear Ingeborg,How are you?In preparation for the first ping of this Ilikemystyle ping pong, I was looking at what

Style.com proclaims are the ‘trends for fall’ – specifically, “Something Fifties,” which is pretty vague itself. They seem to be playing connect-the-dots with fall collections, Mad Men, and the (by now 100% boring) advent of ‘curvy’ models on the runway. A few designers (notably Nina Ricci) have remembered that women have breasts. 50s style does seem to be having a moment – I’m thinking of the airbrushed, cleavage-y new Louis Vuitton ads with Christy Turlington (I have a vivid memory of my mother instructing a seven-year-old me that Christy was “the very best model,” which I accepted and have yet to shake). I like the clothes just fine but I think that Mad Men 50s is a million times more of a yawn than John Waters Cry-Baby 50s. These evil/spiky Alexander Wang cat-eye sunglasses do the talking for me – I want a teen with a blazing bad attitude, not an executive with ‘secret problems’! I think the best version is Cacharel’s Fall 2010 RTW collection, full of mixed prints, full skirts, high collars and belts – retro without be-ing staid.

Looking at all of these dandy clothes and thinking about the sick, sad, oil-slicked state of the world couldn’t help but remind me of the photobook Gentlemen of Bacongo, about a club of snappy dressers in the Congo whose outfits are incredibly elegant in the midst of abject poverty. I guess that’s what New York will be like once China pulls out and all of the US turns into a giant shantytown!

But enough doom and gloom – what are you looking forward to for fall?Talk to you soon!Emily

THe WoRds Ping Pong Review i

by emily segal / username: RiPyourself and ingeborg HArms

On Aug 3, 2010 at 1:08 PM, Ingeborg Harms wrote:

Dear Emily,So glad to be reminded of John Waters. His sense of the grotesque seems to be alive and

kicking not only in Comme des Graçons and Watanabe, but at Louis Vuitton as well. I liked all of Peter Som, dresses by Derek Lam, and coats by many designers like Dries. But I was really touched by Marco Zanini’s Rochas Fall collection: light, rich, and modern. As for what I am personally looking forward to: buying a felt coat from Uniqlo’s +J collection and sporting my old lavender boots, skin-colored Marni cardigan, and my new bottle-green John Pearse heavy moleskin coat.

You’re so right: pumped-up cleavage is as boring as a McDonald’s ad. But I have to admit that Mad Men fashion got me, insofar as it differs from a calculated offering of hormone shots on top of latter-day androgyny. Magnificently orchestrated, Mad Men fashion is also about the appeal of forgotten silhouettes, the kind that Bernhard Willhelm tries to resurrect. Long A-line skirts, that sort of thing. For women, that period was incredibly complex as they didn’t have the suit to drop back to. Dior and Balenciaga gave them all kinds of new ideas, ways to curve and indent their silhouette. I see 50s female fashion as a predecessor to pop and the space age: it deconstructed the principles of the male suit and transported them into an experimental stage. They were explicitly applied to the invention of new proportions and individual idealizations of specific female shapes.

Living in Berlin Kreuzberg, I am intrigued by the Muslim fashion all around me. Last night, after taking a swim at a Hermannplatz club in the center of Kreuzberg, I couldn’t believe my eyes when I stepped out of the elevator: right there were three veiled girls, ready to start their night shift as cleaning ladies. The skinniest one of them would have created a sensation on any runway in Paris or London; she was wearing low boyfriend jeans, a black long-sleeve top, high collar, and a delicate, acid green haze of a veil nonchalantly tied around her head and shoulders and somehow tucked into her pants. Anyway, I should have taken a picture, but I was too intimidated by her allure. And this was to go on a night shift!

I see all kinds of headwear in multicultural Berlin, plus dramatic cloaks – mostly black, sometimes embroidered, always expertly done. I don’t want to get into the political discussion that rages in Europe concerning religious veiling in a secular state. It happens that cloaks or elaborate headwear are, as of today, the most striking affront to the ideas of transparency and nakedness, which have been with us since the Enlightenment. Fashion has been x-raying man-kind for 200 years to a point where it sometimes feels as if clothes serve no other purpose than to tell the market value of a body. A black cloak, meanwhile, sweeps it away. It has an eloquence of its own, alluding to other things of a less optical kind, to matters of the mind; secrets, realms of fantasy. Or, as Vicente del Bosque, the head coach of the World Cup–winning Spanish soccer team, put it: “There is nothing more important than intelligence and modesty.”

Aside from cleavage, we see another remnant from the 50s: the hat. We missed it dearly. It gives momentum to the face, improves facial and bodily proportions, hides receding hairlines, shelters from the sun and scrutinizing glances, provides instant respect and an aura of purpose. People spend a lot of time at the hairdresser to compensate for the absence of this simple device. Every man wore a hat in the 50s. Muslim female headwear serves the same purpose, especially

237

which violently provoked everyone else’s unimaginativeness, because nobody could think of anything else to say except “wild!”

Carine allowed her dress to take care of whatever imagination remained: sleeveless, black, down to mid-thigh. As for the cut, all that can be said is that it would have no wrinkles, at any moment, in any situation. I forgot the rest of the night, which I mostly spent with Marc Jacobs by the doors of a lost property office-turned-ballroom in SoHo, as Marc stood in front of a black, spandex wall working his Blackberry, smoking away countless Marlboro Lights from America (I don’t smoke). Carine passed by me again, without saying goodbye. As she was star-ing into Derek Blasberg’s camera, I got a look at the back of her dress: an extremely wide, also matte black zipper led all the way from her neckline down to the hem.

by Josh segal / username: tpaine from New York

It’s mid-April and I’m at school talking to this girl named Ava. She says something about some bluegrass music festival she goes to every July. I say I don’t really like concerts.

She says: What do you mean you don’t like concerts? Have you ever been to one?I say: Of course I’ve been to concerts. I’ve been to like a million concerts.She asks: So what was the best concert you’ve ever been to?I say: I have no idea. I mean, I guess I’ve been to objectively good concerts before but I

can’t think of a “best.” I just don’t like standing for that long. I have knee problems and I get tired.Fast-forward one week and I’m in Providence, RI with my sister about to walk onto the

main green at Brown University. There is a big stage set up right in the middle. Snoop Dogg is going to perform.

But before Snoop can take the stage we have to endure Wale and the Black Keys. Wale is funny but stupid. He screams to the crowd: This is for all the ladies out there! And his DJ plays Kelly Clarkson’s “Since U Been Gone” and Wale jumps around and sings along. Then he raps a few of his own songs and he’s gone before I even really notice. I hardly notice when the Black Keys play at all because I ran into four kids I knew in high school and they kidnapped me.

We walked away from the stage, ignoring the Black Keys because honestly who wants to see them at a RAP concert? And we do an auxiliary activity and talk about high school.

Then the Black Keys aren’t on the stage anymore and all of a sudden I’ve never been this excited for a concert before. I’m about to see Snoop Dogg, the Dogg Father, up close and personal. I find my sister and start thinking: Holy shit holy shit SNOOOOOOOOOOOP.

And after only a few minutes, he comes out on stage and you’ve never seen more white kids more excited about rap music and Snoop says something like: What up Brown University???

Snoop is the most innately famous person I’ve ever seen. He oozes fame from the Brown hockey jersey he’s wearing to his bomb-ass diamond-studded four-finger mic holder.

And the whole crowd goes crazy and he immediately starts rapping “Gin and Juice” and you’ve never seen more kids saying the same words at the same time. He puts his hands up and every single person in the audience does the same. Snoop directs the crowd effortlessly. He knows exactly what to do and what to say to make everyone there extremely happy. Or maybe

...sNoop dogg

THe WoRds 5 life Changers

encounters with, impressions of, performances by...

5 life Changers

My relationship with Carine Roitfeld can only be described as intimate. I think about her fre-quently and intensively – alone, since we don’t see each other all that often. Plus, I see her more often than she sees me. From an outside perspective it may seem a bit imbalanced, but who knows? Perhaps that’s exactly what keeps things going.

The second to last time we met was in New York, after the Hilfiger show in the white tent in Bryant Park. I was stuck in a crowd that must have been pushing me towards the exit, though it was too full for me to tell for sure. Just as a midnight-black square appeared before me, the right side of my body bumped against something solid: Carine.

Whoever has attained a steadfast conviction that Carine Roitfeld is all about black ge-nius (in the same vein as black pedagogy, black magic, death metal, etc.), as I have, will have distilled a large part of this presumption through regularly reading Vogue Paris and from repeat-edly looking at her portraits. The well-nigh perplexing interplay of her cannibal’s grin, her anis-ette-colored eyes, her ironed hair, her steadily bronzed skin – evil, evil, evil, evil! Furthermore, if you summon the charming round of the editors-in-chief of the other Vogue franchises before your eyes, you get Ms. Wintour (USA), Ms. Arp (Germany)…exactly. Whatever, n’importe quoi, as Carine would say.

At the exit to the accursed tent, I was pushed up against Carine, and for a crack-of-a-whip moment, we looked at each other. From that, I divined the secret of her gravitational pull, perceived as supernatural by many men: her gaze. That’s it! The precisely “anisette” eye color is somehow light and foggy at the same time, the source of the inevitable impression that she’s stand-ing in the fog lights of a matte black Range Rover. She is said to possess a kind of miniaturized fog machine that ceaselessly produces beautifully shaped clouds directly in her field of vision.

And then she turned away and disappeared into the night without saying goodbye. The next encounter – this time in London – proved to be even more intense. It wasn’t

too long ago. The opening of a new, four-story Louis Vuitton flagship store on New Bond Street brought us together. I sauntered somewhat awkwardly through the designed interior – described by Peter Marino as the beach house of a drug-dealing compulsive gambler. Its centerpiece is a magical, levitating, mounted display stairway made of green-blue reflective glass steps. I lin-gered there around its reflections and was admiring, as were other party guests, the adolescent presumptuousness with which the Brazilian supermodel Alice Dellal had usurped the potential effect of Marino’s little stairway.

I found it too unambiguous, but whatever. ’Cause then came Carine! She had bleached her gaze with Clorox; her hair was, as if out of sheer carelessness, only ironed in some spots,

...Carine Roitfeldby JoacHim Bessing / username: jbessing from Berlin

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On June 23, 2010, at 12:59 pm, Eva Munz wrote:

Dear Ingo,How was Afghanistan? You look awesome in that Kabul beach pic. Where are you now?

I’m back in Bangkok shooting another batch of commercials: my life as a robot. Kind of Cali-fornian: the A/C way too cold, CNN oil slick, World Cup, always in a car, traffic jams, treadmill, loads of Starbucks and sleeping pills.

Listen: I’d like to talk to you about Bret Easton Ellis for the next issue. Have you read Imperial Bedrooms? I haven’t, but will go get it in a sec. Maybe we can chat about it via email. What do you think?

Peace, Eva

On June 23, 2010. at 1:41pm, Ingo Niermann wrote:

Dear Eva,I haven’t read Imperial Bedrooms yet. I want to reread Less than Zero first. Perhaps we

should read it in reverse order. I’ll start with Less than Zero while you read the new one. Perhaps you could describe the purchase to me as well.

Attached you’ll find the cover of my Dubai Democracy book. We should talk about your Afghanistan book for the Solutions series.

Yours, Ingo

On June 24, 2010, at 2:58 am, Eva Munz wrote:

Dear Ingo,I want to re-read Less than Zero too. It’s been forever. Asynchronous reading, yes. Let’s

do exactly that. Last night I called the Kinokunya bookstore while editing one of the gazillion commercials I’m doing right now. I had to spell out Ellis’s name: “E for England, L for London, L for London, I for Italy, S for Sweden.” People here don’t know his work at all. I sent my fa-vorite motorcycle messenger Mr. Sow to pick up the book. He’s a hardcore supporter of the Red Shirts anti-government movement, yet he is extremely polite. He has a number of nervous tics

Ping Pong Review ii:

Bret eAston ellis in Reverse order Talking points: the author’s latest novel and his first one, cover art, The smurfs movie, Putin, Afghanistan, lacan, and Joan didion. Plus: the man-machine Beyoncé Knowles.

THe WoRds

by eva munz / username: evvAa from New York

and ingo Niermann / username: ingo from Berlin

Ping Pong Review ii

and flinches constantly. Must be from the pollution. The cover of your Dubai book is ace obviously. Zak Keyes is such a genius. Ellis should

get him to do his covers. I’m not too fond of Ellis’s covers. He doesn’t seem to care at all. Unlike Coupland, who is a complete control-freak. But then again Coupland is gay and Canadian and Ellis is so incredibly American and somewhat not gay. To my Teutonic eyes he’s the ultimate American male, wearing hoodies in public. Who is he kidding?

Greetings from the Mango Republic, E

On June 25, 2010, at 7:04 am, Ingo Niermann wrote:

Dear Eva,It took me a while to get into Less than Zero. I remembered it to be an okay read. Now

I have serious problems concentrating on whatever happens and doesn’t. Less than Zero feels exactly like Waiting for Godot. Not just because it’s soaked with existentialism and nihilism – no juvenile novel of the 20th century could do without those monovular twins. But Less than Zero works like a laconic play, claiming that the laconic play itself is a metaphor for the modern world. It’s just a surface and basically empty; everyone in it just pretending within a limited frame...bla bla bla. The characters talk about drugs, consume drugs, and don’t feel any effects. I’ve read the first 50 pages and there’s not a single sex scene.

Did you have a chance to watch Katy Perry’s and Snoop Dogg’s latest video “California Gurls”? At least it put a smile on my face.

Yours, Ingo

On June 26, 2010, at 10:25 am, Eva Munz wrote:

Ingo,“The characters talk about drugs, consume drugs and don’t feel any effects.” I remember

you saying exactly the same thing about the novel Unter diesem Einfluss by our friend Henning Kober. I think it’s a description of people who use drugs (prescription or not) to zone out, switch off. They pop an Ambien or puff a fatty after work and watch the World Cup on their IKEA sofa. That concept escapes me completely; if anything, I want to zone in.

Reading Imperial Bedrooms (IB) reminded me that I cannot remember a single scene from Less than Zero. Nothing. A blackout. A blank page. Anyways IB is full of surfaces. They’re all shiny and every surface serves merely as a screen: the screen of the cell phone, the reflection in a mirror, a window, the water, a windshield, a TV set, the computer screen. A lot of the screens emit light (hope?) and are sometimes the only source of light in a scene. And because the main character Clay is a screenwriter, everything is basically written for the screen anyway. BEE re-ally hammers one idea home and he does so in his trademark bland prose (you call it nihilism and existentialism): the modern world in general and LA in particular is a huge hall of mirrors, a hairball of simulacra.

Interestingly enough I totally enjoyed the beginning. It’s a little like chewing sugarless gum. It starts at a screening of the movie Less than Zero that all the characters of the book are attending, except the ones who are dead.

Ahoi, EvaP.S. Watching the “real” Katy Perry feat. Snoop video is a challenge. There are soooo many