Where I Am When I'm Not With You

I don't like talking about myself on this blog because I think (a) no one cares and (b) that's not why I started it.  But forgive me, I feel compelled to today.  

I haven't been posting much at all lately because college literally has me by the throat.  I'm a fashion student (NO, really?!?), and I struggle to keep up with work and a "social" life and the occasional artistic indulgence.  I'm afraid Rebels hasn't been on my priority list.

When I started this thing my freshman year it was only as a means to explore my growing interest in menswear.  I think my audience is pretty small, and I like the intimacy.  

Now I'm heading into my senior year and will be working on my thesis collection.  I hope to be able to share with you in the coming months my personal research, inspiration, and progress.  It's really fucking exciting and terrifying and wonderful.

In the mean time, stick with me.  I've got some posts in the queue, some things to share.  

^^^Steve Mcqueen's tired, and so am I, but there's still blood pumping behind this screen. 

-RWPF




P.S.  This is my 200th post!  Drinks on the house!

This Blog Will Never Be Famous

It is not hard to figure out what people want. It is only a matter of deciding whether or not you are going to give it to them. This blog will never be famous because it is not about street style, runway fashion, or personal sartorial choices. I will not be setting the timer on my camera, posing in a nonchalant way, and post the results, pretending that I am completely unaware of how fabulous I look. I knew what I wanted this blog to be about from the beginning, and I stick by that. Besides, everyone else covers the aforementioned areas so well, any attempt to mimic them would be superfluous.

I try to keep the blah blah blah to a minimum, but sometimes I feel compelled. The following facts are specific to artists (writers, painters, musicians, etc), but are relevant to people of all passions.

FACT 1: The work you feel the most passionate about, have the deepest connection with, will be the most undervalued by the public. Even ignoring the argument that no one could match the depth of feeling you have for your own work, this fact is true because the general public tends to have bad taste. Wait, I take that back. The general public tends to have shallow taste. Hence the proliferation of shiny, lucrative pop music, and the general unawareness of gritty, soul-shattering noise blues (I'm sure it exists, if not, get on that shit).
If you are ever to achieve a level of satisfaction in your work, you MUST come to terms with this fact. Reject the need to feel appreciated by the masses, embrace the support you have from those two people in the back, and in the wake of realizing that you are the only person who gets it, take comfort in your own self awareness.

FACT 2: You may never become famous. I know right? WHAAAAAT??? But more importantly you will never achieve fame (minor or major) for the right reasons. Fame is always a consequence, never an achievement. Unless you're a fame whore with no artistic ideals, in which case, bon voyage. Wait, what are you doing here?

FACT 3: If you want to keep every part of yourself, you can never give them what they want. Whose them? What do they want? Those people over there, and don't give it to them. They'll say, "This is perfect, but it would be even better if you changed it just a little..." I'm not saying never compromise, but if you do, be aware of the pieces of yourself you must break off and give away in the process. Sometimes they are pieces not worth keeping, but usually they are.

FACT 4: Never trust people trying to tell you the facts of life. This is all bullshit, I have no idea what I'm talking about.

Some words of wisdom from The Man Himself.

More Son House Advice

À bientôt, RWPF

P.S. This blog is steering towards the direction of self expression rather than 'wear a black tie with a plaid shirt', 'roll up your pants', etc etc. As you may have noticed. Feel free to jump ship or jump aboard. Anchors away, I suppose.

HIPSTER - A Requiem

First of all, fuck HIPSTER. Fuck it. Fuck all the connotations and stereotypes and associations that go with it. I would like to implore the youth of the nation here and now to bury that dead horse for good because it is dead. Rigor mortis has set in for a while now and flies abound the poor beast. Rest In Peace dead Hipster Horse, fuck you.

Now I would like to make clear the source and target of my hostility. This is in no way directed toward the people themselves, those who fall under the name one would describe as a HIPSTER. This is directed towards everyone who shrewdly collected elements of the HIPSTER and mass produced them, marketed them, told other people it was cool, made it a novelty item. That, my friends, is the very heart of the bullshit. But this is not new, they do it every decade. After all, where did the HIPSTER come from? A bunch of people trying to avoid the mainstream, wanting to detach themselves from averageness, listening to music no one heard of (har har), wearing clothes from a thrift store because who gives a shit about name brands? If we pretend we’re not jaded and prejudiced about it now, that shit sounds pretty cool. This is a classic case of not identifying with society and thus rebelling against it. The Flappers. The Beats. The Hippies. The Punks. The Grunge Kids. All these styles started from somewhere genuine and honest, until, as they approached the end of their ten year lifespan, they suffered the agony of humiliation and mainstreamification. Doomed to be a punch line. A Halloween costume.

Where are we now? We’re at that point. It’s 2010, the end of a decade. HIPSTER is a joke, and you can buy it at the mall. I know plenty of people who are considered HIPSTERS. They are not followers. They cut their own path. But at this point, how could the average person possibly distinguish them from the trend-worshipping, mediocre youth in plaid trying to fit in?

The outlaws, the artists, the leaders, this is a call to you. Throw out your wayfarers, your plimsolls, stop wearing plaid every day, change your haircut, distinguish yourself from the stereotype. This is not giving in, this is saying Fuck You. What to wear now? Figure it out yourself, you have your own inspiration. You read don’t you? Listen to music? Stop staying the same just because it’s easy. Get your identity back. It’s good for another ten years.

Love and Kisses, RWPF


*I promised this site would be about images and not words (me writing), but no one cares either way, so whatever.