My So Charmed Life

Colors for a New Dystopia

10.02.12

The first rule of Fight Club is to watch Fight Club at least once every few years in order to go crazy over the sets and costumes, most especially HBC who is one of my always and forever fashion icons. The styling in Fight Club launched a million dystopian thriftstore wardrobes and wannabe revolutionary soap-makers among other things. Oh, and kids, smoking is not cool, ok?

So here’s some stitchery completed over the weekend. I’ve always wanted bits of neon in my dystopian costumery, and sparkly flotsam/jetsam of the post apocalyptic world.

Above pictured mermaid Mad Men remake is the work of Mo Lappin at Howlpop, a scissor sister whose work I’ve been collecting for awhile now and who inspires endlessly. Her freedom to slash, burn, and collage celebrates the punk aesthetics of chaos, mistake, and chance. The red velvet bag is my creation.

The dress was not a perfect fit for me, so I decided to revise, knowing Mo would be cool with my collaboration. Thus, the back zip was removed, the dress opened up to a slightly more swingy and less wiggle-tight, can’t-sit-down style. Altho the decisions seem random, I worked to integrate my changes front and back. Hello matte black spray paint.

This tunic length top began life as a happy/dressy little number, and was quite lovely as-is, though missing enough sequins to eliminate the possibility of wearing to any real-life high-end affair (as if I go to any of those). I knew when I thrifted it for 4 bucks that it was destined for an attack of some kind.

It’s hard to capture these garments in photos and without being body-worn; they fit gorgeously since I drape/pin them on my antique dressform and on my own (antique?) body. The colors in this one are just off the hook; colors that seriously may not have existed until right now. While it can be difficult to get used to chopping into, stitching onto, and spray-painting a garment that you know was once extremely expensive… that’s really the exhilaration of it all. Trust me.

I love the juxtaposition of neon polyester sports fabric with all these dressy sequins. A perfect downgrade to a more plebe use of this rejected little number. Maybe she once attended a swank DC ball, something I’d never be invited to. Ha, and look at her now, ready to tromp through the post apocalyptic wasteland. With ancient Afghani beaded tassel necklace, likely once worn by a camel. Because yo, the apocalypse WILL have a desert theme, right?

A hideous camisole meets a nasty discarded curtain swag in this little flirty desert-punk babydoll dress. Another Afghani tassel necklace, the beadwork on this discarded item literally breaks my heart.

From the back, the garment includes an ancient piece of Victorian lace, avec neon spray paint. Held my breath and cut loose with the can. Was it the fumes or the act that made my heart race? This one is still in progress, needs hand-stitchery.

Loving the sick juxtaposition of trashy crap manufactured lace with insanely gorgeous handmade heirloom lace. In yer face.

And again, previously non-existent colors. I kid you not. The thrills just keep on coming.

This is the most elaborate piece in the collection. Started many months ago and threatening to be sadly overworked, with weeks of distance I was able to edit out the nonsense and get it to its essence. This is a burlesque-y top, short in the front with full-on neon bustle out the back for a big booty shake. The embroidery references a cosmological event, SW 1644+57 that you want to check out. We’re talking a black hole that ate a star and then blasted a 3.8 billion light-year beam at the Earth. Yeah, freaks, that’s what I’m talking about.

BTW, this started life as the ugliest plaid “work” dress of your worst office nightmares. Unwearable by any standards. This is actually the lining of the piece, over which a shapeless sheath hung like a limp feedsack in jaunty tartan. Why hide all that body-hugging sex appeal under a plaid workaday burka? This is a question you’ll have to answer for yourself. Oh wait, I just did.

The second rule of Fight Club? Don’t talk about Fight Club. But you knew that.

Full sized photos here.

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