I made uh face.

So tomorrow I turn in my first assignment for Illustrated Story. It was to teach the viewer how to do something visually, without text whatsoever. I decided to waking up in the morning, with a bit of a twist. It ended up being more of a narrative rather than an instructional how-to. I like it anyhow.

First Week of the Semester

So the first week of school is about over. Okay, it was only three days, but it seemed more. Art & Design of the 1950's is going to be interesting, I think, but Art of the First People: Mexico is going to be better, because my professor gets so flustered talking about ethnicity due to fear of offending someone, but he's pretty cornered into the discussion, considering the class subject. Intro to Computer Graphics was a little slow for a six-hour course, but our first assignment turned out to be fun-sounding. More on that later-- for now, I just wanted to post the in-class assignment from today's Illustrated Story class. I'd like to actually consistently scan/document my work this semester and log it, so here goes.

The assignment was to draw instructions on how to tie one's shoes, using no text. I kindof like how mine turned out, though I think I may have skipped a step at the end trying to finish in time.


(The top is just an illustration of a hightop for fun.)

Today, after class, I bought my required texts, and on the way home I got to thinking about how Rozelle stuff and preparing for this big show on Saturday for the past two months has given me a lot to do, especially on Tuesday when I had a 4 hour break between classes and instead of going home to nap or eat or watch TV, I cleaned up the warehouse with Andy. I was thinking about how I enjoy having something productive to do during normally unproductive times, and how this show in particular has really pushed us all into doing so much more work together that we normally don't do, and then as I pulled up to school, I thought to put up some flyers. So I reached into the backseat to get the box of flyers, and I found my brand new digital camera that has been missing for a week or so, generally stressing me out. So Rozelle is not only helping me feel accomplished, but literally helping me find shit I lose.

When, oh when, will they synthesize antibiotics that don't make one nauseated.

I do love it when my horoscope tells me to take a break and have a relaxing time with friends.

Over the past month or so, I've been meeting with members of Rhodes' CODA (Center for Outreach in the Development of the Arts) to plan out a community-wide Student Advocates for the Arts organization. I'll be founding the Memphis College of Art chapter with my roommate Brenna and close friend Kelly Seagraves. Katherine Gentsch & Lauren Kennedy are establishing one at Rhodes, and we'll be out at the U of M booth fair next Friday luring in pro-active Memphis students to complete the holy trinity. Hopefully, if all goes well, we'll have a small meeting space/office at First Congo, and be able to meet with a larger group. I know that one of my weaknesses is signing up for more and more work that I will probably regret in some stress-induced homicide later on in the semester, but I can't help that I'm so interested in so many things! I love to write, lead, curate, deliberate, debate, create, and challenge myself. (Thus comes Rozelle Artists Guild, Black & White, Student Alliance, Brode Gallery, & now SAA) But I think this particular endeavor will not end up squashing my shoulders with burden, as I'm not putting myself in a position to receive the full brunt of the responsibilities. I've got a small but reliable & responsible group to work with.

Other than that, I put together this little overview of my works this week. I love this portfolio site, it's easy and looks clean. Check it out: laurenrae.carbonmade.com

Shea and I started a checking account for Rozelle, to avoid being robbed again, and I set up our paypal this week; even added a Donate button to our myspace (myspace.com/wearememphis). The warehouse is clean and heat-proofed, and I think it'll look damn good by our next show. Which by the way, you ought to attend:



That's all, folks!

Sanssouci Collective : Do not judge Memphis co-ops based on them.

The "Sanssouci Collective" sprang up about the time we at Rozelle were starting to make some headway as far as networking, gaining attention, and cleaning up the warehouse. They consist of one MCA student, one MCA dropout, one U of M student, and one floater, to my knowledge, who rented out a house together to cut down on the cost of living in Midtown. A financially-wise decision, if one actually knows of four people they'd depend on to bring in the rent every month. Now, it's not the living situation that bothers me, no not at all, though I must say the 2 founders either have a very understanding or very awkwardly twisted relationship, as they are ex-lovers, yet live together. No, my qualm, is simply that they HAD to have a name. It's as if they're all so proud of the fort they built out of couch cushions and tablecloths, that they must tape a notebook paper sign on the chair leg, by the entrance flap. Although I use that a bit condescendingly, I'm sure such playful, childlike imagery would appeal to them greatly; they'd probably make a whole party based off of forts! I'm getting ahead of myself though.

It's the NAME that irked me to begin with, and it's that bloody, awful, bad example that name perpetuates that just infuriates me. The Sanssouci Collective. They've been so gracious to provide the definition of a collective on their website for me:

" collective: (n.) a group of people who share or are motivated by at least one common issue or interest, or work together on a specific project(s) to achieve a common objective. collectives are also characterized by attempts to share and exercise political and social power and to make decisions on a consensus-driven and egalitarian basis. "

Quite a mouthful, eh? Sounds very in-tune, very intelligent, very Midtown-saavy, eh? It's easy. A collective is a group of people that don't even have to live together, who are united by one or more ideals or goals, and work toward them together. Rozelle does not live together (although living in Midtown pretty much ensures that no one is farther than 4 blocks from another), yet we call meetings to UNITE in one living room, to discuss the COMMON GOAL of making money to incorporate.

My point is that collectives, BY VIRTUE OF COLLECTIVISM, talk. They get together. They discuss. They argue. They agree. But most of all, before any of that happens, they have GOALS, they have IDEALS, and they have STRATEGIES or IDEAS for REACHING those GOALS. You see, I was skeptical of the group from the beginning. A group of kids sharing a kitchen does not in any way, shape, or form mean they are working collectively, collaboratively, cooperatively, or that they have the slightest idea what those words truly mean. They may be cooking for each other once in a while, or splitting the cost of whiskey on a Friday night, but COLLECTIVELY is not a word one can throw around just because you pay the rent all together.

The Sanssouci Collective, EVEN THOUGH members could literally walk down the hallway or up the stairs to run an idea by the others, do not talk. They do not meet, and discuss, and argue, and agree. They have nothing TO discuss. They would honestly be building forts to meet in all week long, and then sit inside them, confused. Or plan a fort party, as I mentioned before.

Whoa, Lauren, what are you saying, here? How about we give the Sekisui kids a chance to tell us what they are about:

" the sanssouci collective strives to cultivate a genuine community in memphis through egalitarian, consensus-driven participation while sharing and practicing alternative ways of thinking, of interacting with each other, and of living. "

Those sound like goals to me! Big, optimistic, vague, idealistic goals, but goals nonetheless. Let's break it down. EGALITARIAN: referring to a governing system that provides equal voice to all its members, yet every I talk to, other than to 2 founders, about anything at all to do with SC, looks at me nervously or blankly, and tells me to ask them. How are all your members to be equal, when they are not even endowed with the same information. If they don't know what time the party is tonight, did they really have any say in its happening?

Which brings me to my next point: they probably didn't. CONSENSUS-DRIVEN: meaning the group has deliberated and then agreed on a particular mode of action, and that only those ideas which were widely agreed upon will ever reach fruition. I am confident in saying there is not a more hypocritical group of syllables in their entire mission statement. Let me back that up with a few firsthand accounts.

The Dr. Suessy Collective announced plans to host a Nude Party directly following Rozelle's spiel about incorporation, affiliation to CAM, and keeping a professional reputation for the public during a monthly Collectives Association of Memphis meeting. When I expressed opposition to a member, I was told, "I had nothing to do with it, I didn't even know, it was ____'s idea."

The week of the Rozelle Rummage Sale (which had by that point already been advertised on the CAM calendar, message boards, & mailing lists for over a month), Sanssouci planned a party for the night before, which consisted entirely of dancing drunkenly to 90's music until late into the night, and actually had the nerve to ask if they could come use the warehouse when they were done, sometime in the wee hours of the morning, to play capture the flag, as if completely oblivious to the fact that all of Rozelle would be in bed early for that silly 7AM Rummage sale thingy. When I expressed my frustration on this matter to a member, I was told, "I had nothing to do with it, I didn't even know about the sale, it was ____'s idea."

After Rozelle was robbed of all it's funds during Thanksgiving, we needed a big moneymaker show with low overhead before the end of January, to recover and be prepared for our big event on the 26th. We spent weeks discussing a New Year's Eve show with DeCleyre, booking bands, collecting money, even discussed it at the December CAM meeting and sent out several mailing lists (CAM & Rozelle) about said show. Ten days or less before the show is scheduled to happen, I find out two of the bands I had booked, had double-booked with Sanssouci, for their New Year's Eve party. I spent a day tracking down the ONE member responsible for the show, explained that Rozelle is in quite a pickle and needs this show to happen, competition-free, to rescue us, to which I was met with, "Oh, I just kindof planned it, but didn't follow up, the rest of the house doesn't even know."

Now, one could argue that these were islolated incidents, that perhaps most things are discussed and agreed on. I can reconcile that, but I must also point out that by declaring themselves a collective and joining the Collectives Association of Memphis, albeit a group of passionate amateurs still, Sanssouci is committing to a entirely separate code of behaviors. They have, theoretically, committed themselves to being tuned into the rest of the cooperative community, and thus, should at least have the organization and forethought to check out a calendar before planning a party. It's only event planner's common sense, really, but beyond that, it's a simple act that Rozelle Artists Guild, DeCleyre Housing Co-op, and Media Co-op all adhere to quite easily.

Further than conflicting parties and lack of communication, the Sanssouci Collective, fuck it, the Sanssouci Housemates are flakey when it comes to following through, and generally hipster.

Sanssucki, who had told us from the beginning they had nothing to make money for, just their individual rents to pay, swore from the get-go that any fundraising they did would be all for Rozelle's cause. A month in, they began throwing Stir Frydays that COST $5 A PERSON to eat, which is in my opinion way too much for contribution toward the groceries considering they make vegan stir fry, to supposedly benefit their library. The library, I'm sorry to say, was some crockpot idea they had when a friend moved away and gave them a sum of books. I expressed that I would never give them a dime until I saw a thoroughly kept ledger of their funds, in & out, and receipts of books bought. (I mean, look at this: BRUNCH PARADE?. Would you really donate money to kids that say, "we are trying to raise money for our travels to far off lands on our picnic parade!")

This wasn't met well either, and Rozelle was angrily accused of being beaurocratic. Yeah, man, fuck the system, wahhh. Institutions are all just brainwashing tools of the government, right? The only way to make a difference, apparently as expressed by a SH, is to be informal and unofficial. I let them be. Afterall, we're chasing very different goals, and although I do in some respects consider the goals of DeCleyre, Rozelle, the Media Co-op, and Revolutions to be more meaningful, and see much more progress being made to meet them, I conceded. Let them be messy art students and live out every stereotype the rest of us are trying so hard to abolish.

When they monopolized the fabled, beloved, rotational Monday night potlucks, and turned them into vegan banquets, I quit going. In this action, I lost the little respect I had for them. Sanssouci claims to believe in "practicing alternative ways of thinking, of interacting with each other, and of living.". Perhaps veganism and nude parties are alternative. They have, individually, expressed an interest in being open-minded, open to anyone and anything, which I suppose is why member Colby Painter wrote a long-winded response to me once on the "pure and untainted form of expression" that is nudity. However, I can't help but think a bunch of 20-somethings drinking and playing strip-poker is little more than living out highschool fantasies under the excuses of intoxication. However, the idea of restricting potluck dishes to animal product-free food because they respect veganism, to me, is the same as atheists claiming to be open-minded because they subscribe to a minority belief, yet rejecting Christians because they acknowledge God. I acknowledge the deliciosity of cheese and chicken, so damned if I'm going to trek over there to drink beer and eat soy.

I do not believe the members of Sanssouci read the things they supposedly represent. I do not believe that anything they have done for the public has been more than providing a place to get wasted on a weeknight. They have successfully filled the void of being those immature kids who have now been kicked out of TWO houses now for being loud, irresponsible, uncleanly, and a general neighborhood nuisance.

I remember really talking with the one person I believe uses their brain in the group, the one I thought may have an idea of Collectivism & Cooperation. He's a smart kid. I remember asking, nearly begging, for a real goal. A real tangible goal that would actually impact the community. "Social hangout" is all I got out of that, and all I got out of the rest of them. Maybe I was trying to push their efforts in a less frat-boy direction because I knew they had brains to do it, or because I didn't want to be affiliated with a group that hosts nude parties, or because I needed that out of them to not loathe that stupid name tacked above their door. Either way, they didn't change. They quit coming to CAM meetings long ago. They quit having their own meetings, if they actually ever did, because they had nothing to discuss. They have weekly or monthly events that have literally dropped in attendance by 90% since the first few weeks, because it's never different. There are 450 places in Memphis to drink beer, smoke cigarettes, and talk to empty shells of people who like to do the same. Whatever set Sanssouci apart has waned and faded.

Now, I know most of this could be classified as a diatribe. I was never a supporter of Sanssouci. I consistently had issues with them, and it was always something stupid and childish. But for the record, I am not gloating over the current slope of demise they seem to be slipping down. They are going to fail as a collective, not because they are stupid people, but because they do not understand the idea of collectivism, and because they have short-term, low-end goals. As long as they believe collectives live in the same house, they will be kicked out for occupancy complaints and beer cans in the yard. As long as they believe existing simply as a meat-free party house is how they will "cultivate a genuine community in Memphis", or make some kind of actual impact, they never really will. They will forever be one of those things hipster Indie kids include on their Myspace Interests because it was one of those cool, underground places they were a part of, although to people who read that, people like you and me, we'll snicker and know that it's not different than saying, "I'm interested in beer, pot, and unemployment".

I often do wonder if there is actually some kind of fulfilling personal gain from nurturing a hatred of someone that really, really doesn't care. Honestly, I have often wondered what the appeal of maintaining a hate against any one person yields. I mean, I believe that hatred can be a useful emotion, and can effect some kind of positive impact. Hatred of oppression, or high taxes, or serial killers. Hey, I didn't condone the death penalty last time I considered it, and I've seen enough cop movies and shows to know emotional involvement within the pursuit of justice can be a larger hinderance than any other, but the fuel is there to drive someone to care. Just a slightly misguided or misinterpreted cousin of passion, hate is.

All that I feel right now would only come about as pure narcissism if articulated, but ya know, there ain't no shame in having pride. I do feel as though I have picked up on some important maturation somewhere along my short voyage through life that those older than me seemed to have overlooked. I'm glad I do not let a silly past conflict affect my entire demeanor at a light-hearted social gathering, just to maintain that hatred, that carefully groomed hatred. I feel really high school even writing about such a dramatic situation, but I also cannot help but feel that I got the better hand here. Whereas Jessica will actually put forth the effort to post myspace bulletins, start facebook communities, and orchestrate prankcalling sessions against a person that wronged her over a year ago (apology included!), I feel very good surveying the constructive things that I use my time for. Hell, all she has done is evoke some interesting thought for the night, and in all honesty, without even a hint of a condescending tone, I do pity her in some way that her character is of such a calibur, she is willing to alienate herself from a conversation to prove a point. Furthermore, a point to someone who is not worried about having such a point proved to her.

Dear Jessica, darling, should you read this, I would love you to ask one thing of yourself in all sincerity: What personal fulfillment to you achieve from such middle-school lunchroom tactics? I know you, you are actually quite a bright girl, and have a big heart. I harbor no ill will toward you, aside from the character judgments I've been rather forced into coming to. So why the eye rolling? Why bother? I want you to know that I will most likely never in my life be affected by your opinion of me, and that you are only detracting from your own personality by continuing the behavior.

A lot of people I've encountered simply don't change. A lot of them continue pointless or self-destructive behavior because of deeper issues. Cries for attention? Proving one isn't a pushover? A lack of self-respect, at least in some regard? There are a thousand catalysts for anger and hatred. I suppose we all have our own, but I think one of those great things you learn in the journey of figuring yourself out earnestly to the best of your ability, and then liking who you are, is how to differentiate between emotions that should be acted on. Keep yourself at numero uno, Jess: if it ain't making you feel good, it's not good. And if aformentioned stuff does make you feel good, perhaps you need to get to know yourself a bit more... or let a shrink do it for you.

All in all, you are the second person in my life I have ever known, who has articulated such an all-encompassing resentment toward me to this day due to some high school aged conflict. And well, the first girl was a self-loathing, promiscuous cutter.

I love how important things like when you are to be out of the dorm, what happens to you if you are not, and how exactly you prove that you're gone are things I do not hear a word about until the day of. I also love that the school finds it acceptable to fine $50 per person of the dorm that has a "dirty" common area. I like that I'm supposed to "check out" of the dorms with an RA who is not here. I really like that I am being threatened $50-a-day fines for every extra day I am in the dorms past Saturday, December 15th, and I like it even more that the only way to prove I left is to check out with an RA that is not here, and I love that I didn't know any of this until TODAY. I REALLY love that although it was advertised through e-mails and posted flyers in the hallways that the school would be open until December 19th, it really isn't open past December fucking 14th. I really love that I was told the wrong day, because now I have no means of finishing a month-long project that was going to be a Christmas present because I planned to do it Monday. I am only lucky I caught the last guard on duty and coerced her into letting me run down to the shop and retreive it, otherwise I would have been miserable.

By love, I mean, I feel the need to eat paperwork and shit it out on people's desks.

The Kite Runner

Tonight, I saw an advanced screening of the Kite Runner, a movie of which I had absolutely no prior knowledge of--meaning I hadn't seen a trailer yet, because Lord knows I would have known the plot, subplots, conflicts, and characters within two and a half minutes, negating the need to actually watch the movie. Trailers today are like Sparknotes: get the story and pass the test, but miss the experience.

But I digress. The movie was incredible. All I knew going in was that the PG-13 rating specified it was due to harsh language, some brief gore, and the sexual assault of a child. Needless to say, I was on pins & needles waiting for the atrocity, but even after, I was completely absorbed. I can barely form sentences right now, and cannot even think of specifics, not that I would dare want to give a plot point away and lessen the impact of the film as a whole. So let me say, this is a film that will break you in half and stitch you back up crookedly. It is a superb representation of Middle Eastern culture, beautifully written, and wholly one of the most heartbreaking movies I have ever seen. Spend your eight dollars on this.

Art School Professors are just High School Egos with Wrinkles.

The professors, and teachers in high school, summer art programs, theatrical training, etc., that I have held in the highest esteem, have always been very well-rounded teachers. For example, I think Howard Paine is a great teacher, but it has to do with the fact that although he is specially skilled in Graphic Design, he dabbles in a bit of every medium. I feel that has endowed him with a bit more openmindedness, so that he can appreciate the skill and labor that goes into both a design and a painting, and can appreciate aspects of both, even those that overlap that perhaps only one who has labored over both a canvas and a computer screen can dilineate. I have seen him attending exhibitions of video animation and sculpture, and perhaps this variation is not the most valuable quality, because the man is laid back in general. It seems that even though he can carefully giggle at a prod at another student, he has not succumb to the gossipping, stressful air of his peers. For that I respect him.

Adrian Duran, who I also respect highly, both as a educator and a human being, is similar. True, he is well-versed in Titian and Po-Mo equally, but he exercises his right to opinion. He does not praise everything he teaches, and perhaps more importantly, is not simply versed in textbook art, but hip hop of all things. And even though I heard criticism of his attempts at photography by Photo Majors, he does at least seem to care enough to try it himself; to search for that appreciation through experience. But alas, he too is young, bright, and too intelligent to be swept away in a fit of egomaniacy.

However, my qualms lie with the older--the much older--professors. Those who were trained in the sixties, yet seem to have completely forgotten that sense of finding yourself, finding a place in society, and stirring the pot once in a while. While Prillaman was never one to critique a painting show, he was the best metalsmith I had ever met, and was open to any endeavor you wished to take on, wholeheartedly.

I suppose in my ethical opinion, the professor for an introductory painting class should never have the right to come to the conclusion that a student has no heart for painting after 13 classes of mandatory still lifes, and should furthermore never attempt to give them advice on how to live their life directly following. I may sound like a bitter middle school girl at this point, but every event of yesterday boiled into my blood that art teachers are just walking egos. All artists are. Every piece is a self-portrait, every artist looking in the mirror with a hard-on. I have not met one self-doubting painter in all my life. To think you have such wonderous wisdom and talent that you should be coaching others is masturbating into a classroom of completely unsuspecting, poor, innocent art students.

I have such a problem with this particular teacher because I feel he has wedged himself into Painting I, yet is itching to critique New American Paintings, and instead buries the urges in alcohol, tearing down illustrators, and submersing himself in a warm pool of ass-kissers. And why? I do believe they stem from a complete snobbery, a total lack of appreciation for any innovation of separate mediums. He has latched on to a single medium, and a solitary visual concept, and repeated it, without movement, for fifty years. He doesn't loathe drawing, he has forgotten that is what spawned his precious paintings. He loves your work if it is in oil, heavily layered, with specific horizon lines and luminosity because it reminds him of himself. It's much too late to do a damned thing to change his mind, so I recommend to his students, beware, and don't listen too carefully. Kiss ass and get your A, or experiment how you wish, and let the GPA suffer.

Shame on you, Jon Dolan.

This morning, whilst staying at my Dad's house for Thanksgiving break, I walked into the bathroom and found an issue of Blender boasting "THE 40 WORST LYRICISTS EVER!" on the cover. Hoping that this would be good for a laugh at Maroon 5 or Three 6, I crack the spine. Unfortunately I was surprised.

Either I have really awful taste in music that I haven't seemed to notice in the past five years, or Jon Dolan is trying very hard to win over readers with his ballsy critiques. Of course, I won't defend P. Diddy, Fred Durst, or Dashboard Confessional, but I was frankly quite appalled to find Matisyahu, Common, Ben Gibbard, and KRS-One among others torn to shreds.

Each miniature diatribe included a one-line excerpt from a song by the artist in contempt; i.e. Ben Gibbard: “Your heart is a river that flows from your chest/Through every organ/Your brain is the dam/And I am the fish who can’t reach the core”. Alright, alright, if this was on display on a page of a poetry collection, I'd skip over to the next, but it seems Dolan is simply poking fun at the metered rhythm that is missing when spoken aloud. However, Dolan seems to completely disregard the fact that the singer has otherwise made up for by inserting it unawkwardly into melody, making a song like "Lightness" something I would let play if it came on shuffle. Also, to be fair, Dolan picked one of the worst songs Gibbard has written. Perhaps he just scrolled through a lyrics website on a hunt for something embarrassing? Did Ben steal his girlfriend? Take his parking space?

The pretention only deepened when he criticized Matisyahu, (aka Matthew Miller) for referencing Zion and Babylon. Oy gevalt! Most reggae singers have ganja as an excuse for hazy lyrics about Zion and Babylon. Bodily pure Matthew Miller can only blame the truth and sunlight emanating from his “humble heart.” He's a devout Jew, ferChrissakes! Perhaps we should crucify Dolan for being an unobjective prick!

Of course, aside from the suffocating ego and bias of the article, it did raise a question in my mind, if only for a split second: Do I really have shitty taste in lyricists? Although I doubted myself momentarily, I had to wonder after reading Dolan's bashing of Sting, Bon Jovi, Jim Morrison, and Carly Simon, what does this guy have left to listen to? More importantly, who in his life hurt him so badly that he has become the worst kind of elitist, the archetype of insecure males bashing that which they are incapable of doing? I suspect Jon Dolan is the product of a bloody rejection from highschool choir, or a slam poetry night at a grungy coffee shop. In any case, I give Dolan 1 star out of ten, if only for his witty recognition of the easy potshots in his massacre of music.

American Apparel: Hustler's protege?

Okay, I know American Apparel never claimed to be the answer to Abercrombie, but I suppose I took them for that upon the Memphis location's opening. It seemed as though they were doing the same thing for the different crowd, providing staples for the hipster's life. I mean, you've got to know who you're going to end up catering to if you advertise the fact your clothes are aren't made in sweatshops-- the ethically conscious. ....and all of their less-concerned, more fashionably-worried friends.

Yeah yeah, the clothes cost just as much as American Eagle because they're paying the workers decent wages. I get that. Some of the clothes are cute, sure, but I still can't spend $25 on a scarf, or $9 on a long braided hunk of rope they claim is a belt, nor could I bear to tie that rope around the waist of a skin-tight cotton spandex turtleneck jersey dress ($36).

I guess my biggest qualm with American Apparel is that they couldn't just be different. They sell vertically integrated goods, they host a amateur photography section on their website, and the only people I knew working at their stores were starving art students who got free clothes.

But then came the ads.

I can understand that in a high-competition market like clothes, you've got to play hard. AA is appealing to intelligent, ethical, artistically-aware crowd, but also a broke crowd. I suppose I can understand that there's got to be something more to take the A&F girls out of the mall and bring their daddy's credit cards downtown.

But the photography makes me sick.
Every week I open up a Memphis Flyer, and thirty minutes later, whilst I scan the back page for upcoming shows, I cannot help but look to the bottom. Which twelve-year-old boy-remniscient model will be wearing a unitard today?

I can see plainly that there are only so many things you can do with fashion photography, but from the standpoint of an artist, I am tired of seeing photographers (not limited to fashion at all) take the purposely amateur approach like it's a new thing. It's like Pollock throwing paint around like it was this huge discovery that paint drips. And yes, I do judge AA on their creative guile, because they are trying to sell their image to people like me.

Look at Abercrombie's ads. They are ridiculous and melodramatic. They sell winter coats by taking harshly-lit black & white photos of a fur-lined down jacket on a buff, sweaty, shirtless man, who obviously has no need for a winter coat, because he lives in a steamy penthouse in LA with an anorexic, yet sultry model, but spends his days in the desert making half-love to her.

American Apparel's photos don't even have the cheesy backstory, the feigned drama, the allure whatsoever. If A&F is Playboy, AA is Hustler. It's like someone watched too many Wes Anderson movies, sprinkled a few homely (pardon me, alternatively attractive..) models in (who are still skinny & somewhat shapely) with their gallery of stereotypically gorgeous models, and took high-flash pictures of them wearing nothing but the item being sold.

Hideous gold windbreaker? No shirt!

(I can't help but think they had a lot of awful gold material leftover from something, and they are trying desperately to make it into that, really-ugly-but-hip-because-you've-got-the-attitude-to-wear-it-kind-of-thing-to-sell-it.)

Yeah, it looks real hot on Missus Titty, but imagine some sweet, pudgy, thirteen year old Judy wanders into AA one day, so enraptured by these hot models who seem more believable in her mind than A&F girls, SPENDS FIFTY-EIGHT DOLLARS + TAX ON THIS GOLD LAME WINDBREAKER, and wears it to school. What do you think would happen? Take the windbreaker off the tits and think of it in another context, no, ANY context whatsoever. This jacket is awful, and poor little 7th grader Judy would get laughed out of school.

Socks! .....but no PANTIES.

You need a BARE ASS to sell me these socks? They're cute, I'd buy them if they were $10 less, but... WHO?! is it you are trying to sell these women's socks to? Me? OR MY FIFTEEN YEAR OLD BROTHER??!? Are you just hoping that I'm a horny lesbian?

I DON'T UNDERSTAND.

I must add that when I first discovered their illustrious website, I actually loved the clothes, and loved the presentation. However, take a look at the fashion photography then:





Such taste! Such poise! Such natural lighting!