the memory persists @psychickheartsfromvreeland - Tumblr Blog

When Alejandro Gómez Palomo’s eponymous label Palomo Spain debuted at New York Fashion Week: Men’s last season, we quickly dubbed it the most exciting show during the otherwise-lackluster Fall 2017 shows. Hari Nef and Troye Sivan sat front row and Malia Obama attended the after party; since then, the label also earned Beyoncé’s approval (after all, it was a Palomo design that she wore in her first post-pregnancy Instagram, in which she posed in a magenta floral robe with twins Sir and Rumi). This season, Palomo returned to Spanish shores, showing its Spring 2018 menswear collection at Madrid’s Hotel Wellington. It was fitting, then, that the collection was filled with sensual, hotel-themed details: doorknobs on small crossbody bags with dangling signs reading “Come In, Do Me”; an earring designed to look like a key fob printed with “Please Disturb.” Spanish screen actress (and Pedro Almodóvar muse) Rossy de Palma also walked, wearing a muted green silk robe with wide marabou cuffs, while Lindsay Lohan took in the proceedings from the front row. Get an exclusive look behind the scenes of the latest Palomo Spain show, photographed by Anabel Navarro, here.

psychickheartsfromvreeland

A quick write up for w

blondie-poedie

Debbie Harry

m-kandashley

Met Gala 2017

psychickheartsfromvreeland

Everything I've ever wanted and a little more but minus my presence oh well..it's felt!

m-kandashley

Met Gala 2017

psychickheartsfromvreeland

Hah haha

nomanwalksalone

GLENN O’BRIEN, 1947-2017

by Réginald-Jérôme de Mans

In recent days, the art, music and, not least, fashion worlds have all mourned the unexpected passing of Glenn O’Brien. The dust of his life path, even before one read his men’s style writing, kicked up many different clouds that each could qualify him as a style icon, worthy in fact of the most florid and flamboyant epithets of praise I know. His many public incarnations, beginning at the birth of Pop Culture as a product of Andy Warhol’s Factory, earn him the appellation protean: constantly adapting, indeed ahead of the curve. O’Brien’s acid wit rarely fueled a poison pen, but deserved the term epigrammatic. And his ability to marry and convey different conflicting views and inspirations made him a contrarian in the best possible way, a true original.

Many of the necrologies currently scattering like grave dirt mention O’Brien’s vast, varied, and immensely entertaining CV: his debut as a clean-cut kid who by his admission was one of the two people brought in to edit Warhol’s new magazine Interview because they weren’t effed up on drugs. (Warhol famously said everyone gets their 15 minutes of fame; coincidentally I always thought Interview took 15 minutes to read, but at least they were a fun 15 minutes, more than I can say about almost any other publication.) His days hosting the anarchic public access cable show TV Party (which he created with Blondie’s Chris Stein) welcoming in the bright lights of the postpunk generation; his stints as “Editor at Large” of High Times, a title he claimed to have invented in homage to the legally suspect area of the magazine’s avowed subject; Creative Director of advertising for Barneys New York; columnist for Artforum; and a long tenure as The Style Guy for the defunct Details and, until a few years ago, GQ, which has become even more irrelevant since his acrimonious departure. Thence to Maxim, as the Axe Body Spray of men’s magazines tried to rebrand. Latterly, he launched a new show on Apple TV called Tea at the Beatrice, where over sedate afternoon tea at Graydon Carter’s Beatrice Inn he hobnobbed with personalities from art and fashion as diverse as Gisele Bündchen (whom the NYT in its amnesiac idiocy is now calling an “influencer”) to the artist, provocateur and posturer Shepard Fairey, whose college-town Andre the Giant shenanigans influenced me indelibly.

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