21 February 2011

Fashion Capsules.

http://sofamanila.multiply.com/


Picture stumbled upon here.


Picture stumbled upon here.


I want to attend both! Need to make calls later. :) But I'm not sure if there will be available slots for Enter the World of Fashion Design because I have a feeling fashion lovers swarmed in upon knowledge of this event. Hee. Let's cross fingers. :D


And on a more serious note, Mr. Postman came by to our house to deliver something for my mother and he asked me if we received their registry notice because a mail from USA arrived almost 3 weeks ago and is still unclaimed. Definitely that mail is mine. AAAAAAAH! Lo and behold, this is the moment when it is going to be slapped on my face! Let's see if that Pearson Vue trick really works. *crossing fingers* (Too much crossing fingers! Hahaha.) 
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17 February 2011

Waka waka! :D

So I'm currently doing my portfolio for my scholarship application at SoFA. I'm in no way of being halfway done! Oh boy, I gotta keep it moving so I'll be able to submit it before May! Anyway, I'm done sketching my Fall-Winter collection though, which is architecture-inspired. I'm starting my Spring-Summer collection which is African-inspired. :) (I'm going to take a snapshot of my portfolio when I'm done and I'll post it here.)


I already had my inspiration board but I still am so uninspired (meaning, no ideas are coming in) so I researched further and deeper what Africa and their culture is all about.


Click here for picture credit. :)


Click here for picture credit. :)


Click here for picture credit. :)


Click here for picture credit. :)


Click here for picture credit. :)

Click here for picture credit. :)


I can't seem to find where I got the picture, Sorry.


Click here for picture credit. :)


Click here forpicture credit. :)


Click here for picture credit. :)


Click here for picture credit. :)




Here are some of the photos that I found as my inspiration. As you can totally see and as we all know for a fact, Africans are all about splash of colors. A whole splash of colors. Which they are not afraid of. The colors of their garments make them totally stand out from the crowd. Even their art pieces are just bursting with colors and ingenuity. And I love colors that's why I appreciate their art and culture. And come on, World Cup! Win or lose, they were among the few who were lucky to be a part of that worldwide sports crazy shindig! :D


There is more to the African art and culture. As I did my research, I saw the evolution. Especially with their fashion. They used these colorful cloths called 'kanga' which they tie, twist or knot and wrap around their body as a dress or skirt; or onto their heads as turban or head wrap. It is their traditional dress. Everyone uses them. But now, they had already modified their kangas. They don't just wrap it onto their bodies but they use it now to recreate another form of dress that didn't require knotting or twisting but sewn together. African designers are now being recognized and 'seen' in the fashion industry because of this, as evidenced by the very new Swahili Fashion Week. Some foreign designers have even used African art and culture and these African kangas or textiles as their inspiration for their collection, like Suno


Well, having their kangas sewn together or buying kangas that are already sewn together is more 'impractical' (and probably even a little expensive) than how they used to do it but they've actually embraced it because it gave them diversity and variety. Something new and fresh. But I know they still look and go back from time to time to their traditional way of wearing it. And I think that's something great about Africans, they may not be as economically great as United States or Russia or Japan but they have something to be proud of -- their rich culture. They have already set their own unique thumbprint in the world that any person in the world can recognize as solely theirs.


I hope the same thing goes for my own country or race as well. I hope that, despite of whatever way other people or country views or stereotypes Asians or Filipinos in general, we may be able to set our culture as our own unique and good thumbprint in the world. There is more to what you or they 'think' or 'judge' of us, you know. There is more to our hospitable trait. That one can say and easily recognize, "Oh, that's Filipino." And I will be proud to respond back, "Oh yeah, that's so ours! :D"


You can check out (and I recommend) blogs of people from Africa or of African descent which I stumbled upon during my research. I enjoyed reading their posts, I hope you do as well. Click on:


  1. Trinidad Fashionista
  2. Nappy Headed Pro
  3. With Comb and Razor  
  4. Africa is a country
  5. Harlem Loves
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14 February 2011

Rihanna and Drake at Grammy's 2011. :D



AAAAAAH! Duh-reykkk!!! ♥ I wish I was Rihanna at that gettin-jiggy-with-it moment! Hahaha! A girl can dream, a girl can dream. :p I just love this song! My brother and I love singing this together. :D 
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Happy Hearts Day! :D


Let's not get all hyped up because it's Valentine's (Well, exception maybe to couples who get more cheesy on this day). THis should be said as often as one could. And this should be the best overused phrase ever. :) And oh, DON'T SPECULATE, wala lang yan -- just to be clear. :D I intentionally didn't tag anyone, baka isipin nyo choosy ako. Hee. Happy Hearts Day! :) 



*Well okay, maybe that goes out to Chace. Hahaha.*


Forgive my webcam shot and hapless attempt to create a kiss mark on paper. :p
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11 February 2011

Oops.

Click to see picture credit. :)


And then, I suddenly felt like I'm the daughter who stands in between you and your second wife... 
It's kinda sad. The 'situation' was nothing new but what actually happened that night was like a bomb that was thrown right in front of my face. Like a big exclamation point and my jaw just dropped and my eyes just popped out. But it's all good. :D Just shocking.

Click here to see picture credit. :)


And oh, thank you to our friend, Aldrin Tirones for inviting us to the Cirq Regal Fashion Show by the junior year Fine Arts students of University of Santo Tomas at The Fort. Sadly, no pictures for this entry because I didn't take pictures that night so the show won't be justified enough even if I say that it was one good show. :D
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01 February 2011

You Should Date An Illiterate Girl by Charles Warnke


Date a girl who doesn’t read. Find her in the weary squalor of a Midwestern bar. Find her in the smoke, drunken sweat, and varicolored light of an upscale nightclub. Wherever you find her, find her smiling. Make sure that it lingers when the people that are talking to her look away. Engage her with unsentimental trivialities. Use pick-up lines and laugh inwardly. Take her outside when the night overstays its welcome. Ignore the palpable weight of fatigue. Kiss her in the rain under the weak glow of a streetlamp because you’ve seen it in film. Remark at its lack of significance. Take her to your apartment. Dispatch with making love. Fuck her.
Let the anxious contract you’ve unwittingly written evolve slowly and uncomfortably into a relationship. Find shared interests and common ground like sushi, and folk music. Build an impenetrable bastion upon that ground. Make it sacred. Retreat into it every time the air gets stale, or the evenings get long. Talk about nothing of significance. Do little thinking. Let the months pass unnoticed. Ask her to move in. Let her decorate. Get into fights about inconsequential things like how the fucking shower curtain needs to be closed so that it doesn’t fucking collect mold. Let a year pass unnoticed. Begin to notice.
Figure that you should probably get married because you will have wasted a lot of time otherwise. Take her to dinner on the forty-fifth floor at a restaurant far beyond your means. Make sure there is a beautiful view of the city. Sheepishly ask a waiter to bring her a glass of champagne with a modest ring in it. When she notices, propose to her with all of the enthusiasm and sincerity you can muster. Do not be overly concerned if you feel your heart leap through a pane of sheet glass. For that matter, do not be overly concerned if you cannot feel it at all. If there is applause, let it stagnate. If she cries, smile as if you’ve never been happier. If she doesn’t, smile all the same.
Let the years pass unnoticed. Get a career, not a job. Buy a house. Have two striking children. Try to raise them well. Fail, frequently. Lapse into a bored indifference. Lapse into an indifferent sadness. Have a mid-life crisis. Grow old. Wonder at your lack of achievement. Feel sometimes contented, but mostly vacant and ethereal. Feel, during walks, as if you might never return, or as if you might blow away on the wind. Contract a terminal illness. Die, but only after you observe that the girl who didn’t read never made your heart oscillate with any significant passion, that no one will write the story of your lives, and that she will die, too, with only a mild and tempered regret that nothing ever came of her capacity to love.


Do those things, god damnit, because nothing sucks worse than a girl who reads. Do it, I say, because a life in purgatory is better than a life in hell. Do it, because a girl who reads possesses a vocabulary that can describe that amorphous discontent as a life unfulfilled—a vocabulary that parses the innate beauty of the world and makes it an accessible necessity instead of an alien wonder. A girl who reads lays claim to a vocabulary that distinguishes between the specious and soulless rhetoric of someone who cannot love her, and the inarticulate desperation of someone who loves her too much. A vocabulary, god damnit, that makes my vacuous sophistry a cheap trick.
Do it, because a girl who reads understands syntax. Literature has taught her that moments of tenderness come in sporadic but knowable intervals. A girl who reads knows that life is not planar; she knows, and rightly demands, that the ebb comes along with the flow of disappointment. A girl who has read up on her syntax senses the irregular pauses—the hesitation of breath—endemic to a lie. A girl who reads perceives the difference between a parenthetical moment of anger and the entrenched habits of someone whose bitter cynicism will run on, run on well past any point of reason, or purpose, run on far after she has packed a suitcase and said a reluctant goodbye and she has decided that I am an ellipsis and not a period and run on and run on. Syntax that knows the rhythm and cadence of a life well lived.
Date a girl who doesn’t read because the girl who reads knows the importance of plot. She can trace out the demarcations of a prologue and the sharp ridges of a climax. She feels them in her skin. The girl who reads will be patient with an intermission and expedite a denouement. But of all things, the girl who reads knows most the ineluctable significance of an end. She is comfortable with them. She has bid farewell to a thousand heroes with only a twinge of sadness.
Don’t date a girl who reads because girls who read are the storytellers. You with the Joyce, you with the Nabokov, you with the Woolf. You there in the library, on the platform of the metro, you in the corner of the café, you in the window of your room. You, who make my life so god damned difficult. The girl who reads has spun out the account of her life and it is bursting with meaning. She insists that her narratives are rich, her supporting cast colorful, and her typeface bold. You, the girl who reads, make me want to be everything that I am not. But I am weak and I will fail you, because you have dreamed, properly, of someone who is better than I am. You will not accept the life that I told of at the beginning of this piece. You will accept nothing less than passion, and perfection, and a life worthy of being storied. So out with you, girl who reads. Take the next southbound train and take your Hemingway with you. I hate you. I really, really, really hate you.
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