Comeback of everything and everyone

tatarataaaa!!! ok, so i finally came back from my one year business trip which served the humble purpose of conducting research in the following fields: american fashion, simultaneous mass pms-ing, boston kreme donut over-ingestion.

in this post i will concentrate on american "fashion", which is a straight out lie because it doesn't exist and writing about it would be like writing about something that doesn't exist for god's sake. i can't think of anything that doesn't exist. is this a trick question, mind? are you kidding me again? like yesterday when i thought i could grow up to become a butterfly made out of rainbows?

actually i will talk about la roux, which is a lie too, bc. seriously actually actually actually i will rant about the fash catastrophe that is the decade between 1980 and 1990:

my partly ironic obsession with the 80s began when i was a young agile female of 16 springtimes. as a result of my self-prescribed pathetic lifestyle (i.e. "smiling is for losers", "i do not need to wash my hair, there are children in africa dying") i moved to the dark side like mischa barton and started listening to 80s popsongs composed of three main characteristics:

sad beautiful

sad strange

sad suicidal

in retrospect i have to admit that the (non-)styling of certain lead singers did at some point contribute to my fanatism (understatement radar goes wawawawa!!!!)

robert



siouxsie



ian




moz

after i saw R.S. at a life concert literally rolling on stage like a minimuff, i got disenchanted (and felt really really fremd-sad), forgot about all these black and white shots, discarded my semi-rebellious NATO jacket and moved forward to experience the dumb joy of colourful 80s music arranged around these three traits:

fun dancy

(it always kept me wondering: where did the water drain off? was there a special plumbing arrangement constructed especially for the stage? these are not the only questions i have about this flick)

(just because)


(zoom in, woman!)

fun gay


you were always on my mind...thanks to these hats


have faith, george. and tell the heeled devil to fuck off!



ooops...wrong decade

fun synthy


kawaiiiii!!!!

knowing my backstory, no wonder that my weak popsoul got shaked by this. the hair? the neon lamps? the make up? the coats? the attempted modernism? the lyrics (so damn true...)? is it too early to crown her as an androgynous molly ringwald of the 00s?

madmad, get ready to rumble. this time, i'll be bulletproof.