"Come with us now on a journey through time and space" lures the first line of the sexual, sparkling and psychedelic British comedy hit The Mighty Boosh, a show which sums up perfectly the current electricity felt in the trend-setting world.
Fashion, music and wit are eloping in a funky vegas threesome, transforming into an unpredictable explosion of sheer unadulterated celebration. There are no barriers between the three any longer, each inspiring the other. The Funk Pop movement has no definition, but a feeling.
We're half-sarcastically, half-earnestly returning to the groovy '60s, (that era in particular, but any real moment of fun and rebellion will do to emulate), wearing neo-nerd glasses, lustrous colours, tight pants and big, big hair. We're casting aside the conformity that has attempted to hold us in its grips and expressing our true, gloriously imperfect, slightly odd, selves. We're having big loud fun, and those who don't like it, can sit dumbly by grumbling and perplexedly wondering what the hell this is all about until it's their bedtime.
We're pranking, we're grabbing life in its private areas, partying, using funkadelic drugs and leaning out on that outdoor terrace with the lanterns on it when the sun comes up over the city and we're looking at the person next to us, all a rumpled mess, thinking, "Boy, I think I'm in love". Or alternatively, "Who is this douche I've managed to get stuck to me?". Either way, it's a careless feeling, and we're looking good, good as you can after a night like that, cause it doesn't matter if your hair is out of place, and your eyeliner is smudged and where-the-fuck-are-your-shoes, because our art, our perfection, our art, is in our lifestyle. And it's pretty faboo.
We're wearing the stars out at night and consuming sunshine for breakfast.
And who could ask for more than that? It's pretty electric, really.
Quite frankly, it's a new time. A new era. And this blog here, this is gonna take its place as a fashion crystal ball in the seedy Esmeralda -type fortune telling booth that is the fashion world. Sensing psychic trend vibrations and feeling joy in imparting a nugget, perhaps, or grain, of true on-the-ball and inspired fashion wisdom, the way you only can with your bejewelled finger on the pulse.
What qualifies me, Rose Behar, to preach style gospel? Well, nothing really, I've just read a few magazines. I mean, it's really easy, anyone can get a blog, I bet that monkey that can do sign language has one, only thing is, I bet it'd get a bit repetitive after a while, ya know "Did some sign-language today, that went pretty well. Don't know why they're still so amazed, I've been doing this shit for twenty years."
No, all I really am is just a girl with a deep irresistible love of fashion, who likes to spread the joy.
So follow me now, and come with us on a journey through time and space...
Fashion, music and wit are eloping in a funky vegas threesome, transforming into an unpredictable explosion of sheer unadulterated celebration. There are no barriers between the three any longer, each inspiring the other. The Funk Pop movement has no definition, but a feeling.
We're half-sarcastically, half-earnestly returning to the groovy '60s, (that era in particular, but any real moment of fun and rebellion will do to emulate), wearing neo-nerd glasses, lustrous colours, tight pants and big, big hair. We're casting aside the conformity that has attempted to hold us in its grips and expressing our true, gloriously imperfect, slightly odd, selves. We're having big loud fun, and those who don't like it, can sit dumbly by grumbling and perplexedly wondering what the hell this is all about until it's their bedtime.
We're pranking, we're grabbing life in its private areas, partying, using funkadelic drugs and leaning out on that outdoor terrace with the lanterns on it when the sun comes up over the city and we're looking at the person next to us, all a rumpled mess, thinking, "Boy, I think I'm in love". Or alternatively, "Who is this douche I've managed to get stuck to me?". Either way, it's a careless feeling, and we're looking good, good as you can after a night like that, cause it doesn't matter if your hair is out of place, and your eyeliner is smudged and where-the-fuck-are-your-shoes, because our art, our perfection, our art, is in our lifestyle. And it's pretty faboo.
We're wearing the stars out at night and consuming sunshine for breakfast.
And who could ask for more than that? It's pretty electric, really.
Quite frankly, it's a new time. A new era. And this blog here, this is gonna take its place as a fashion crystal ball in the seedy Esmeralda -type fortune telling booth that is the fashion world. Sensing psychic trend vibrations and feeling joy in imparting a nugget, perhaps, or grain, of true on-the-ball and inspired fashion wisdom, the way you only can with your bejewelled finger on the pulse.
What qualifies me, Rose Behar, to preach style gospel? Well, nothing really, I've just read a few magazines. I mean, it's really easy, anyone can get a blog, I bet that monkey that can do sign language has one, only thing is, I bet it'd get a bit repetitive after a while, ya know "Did some sign-language today, that went pretty well. Don't know why they're still so amazed, I've been doing this shit for twenty years."
No, all I really am is just a girl with a deep irresistible love of fashion, who likes to spread the joy.
So follow me now, and come with us on a journey through time and space...
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