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Isabella Blow
December 3, 2013
KILLOUGH CHRONICLES

Branding: The Repurposing of Isabella Blow and the Papacy

The last time I saw Isabella Blow in person was backstage at the 2003 fall/winter Dior haute couture show. I was standing off to the side of the preparation madness, in between a colleague of John Galliano’s and my too-young German lover. Issy had shanghaied one of makeup wizard Pat McGrath’s assistants and was having her lips retouched right there in the middle of the room as if she were about to walk the runway herself. She was wearing a surreal Philip Treacy hat, of course, its veil rolled up to allow the makeup artist access. (Issy loved veils; they hid her face. They were symbolic

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By James Killough
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October 5, 2011
TUTTLEMODE

Goddesses, Nymphs and Tramps

TUTTLE MODE

by James Tuttle

Gentle reader,

Allow me to apologize in advance.

You see, I’d already had quite a day.  For some reason, I took a hike in the Hills even though I was already dying from leg day at the gym.  Then my spray tan was accidentally set at level two.  I always use the lowest setting for completely natural looking color and never get clocked so this was potentially disastrous.

Tanning: Brazilians do it better (Photo: L.Luna)

Then, after an hour of negotiating a steamy L.A. while trying not to sweat—because, of course, perspiration is the enemy of the faux tan—my favorite bartender Kevin made me a couple of strong margaritas at St. Felix Hollywood as I navigated the dearth of images streaming in from the Paris shows.  So you’ll understand that when I finally plopped down in front of the television Sunday evening, tired and a little fuzzyheaded, VH1’s Tough Love: Miami seemed like a really good idea at the time.

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By Pure Film Creative
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July 16, 2011
KILLOUGH CHRONICLES

So Sue Me, Seema

This will no doubt be the most post-modern ‘meta’ post I’ve ever written.  This is a comment to a comment left on Thursday by Seema Kalia, whose trials and tribulations I commented on in an earlier post.  The Daily Beast has also commented on this combustion of comments with two words: “No comment.”  This post itself will no doubt draw further comment, perhaps even some fire from Seema in the form of a frivolous lawsuit.

I should sue myself for not only having posted this image in an earlier story, but having Photoshopped it. However, I’m in America, snuggled under a blanket called the First Amendment, unlike John Galliano, who is facing prosecution in France for expressing himself.

Why frivolous?  Because the basis of Seema’s complaint against me, as well as The Daily Beast, is defamation, which as any TV legal drama will tell you is extremely difficult to prove in this country.  However, despite having a Juris Doctor degree that should teach her better, or perhaps because of it, Seema has limitless resources and seems to be keen to use them to tidy up her image.

As the old ad campaign goes, there are some things money cannot buy.

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By James Killough
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July 6, 2011
TUTTLEMODE

Every Clown Has a Silly Lining

TUTTLE MODE

by James Tuttle

Gentle reader,

It took me a while to get around to finally seeing Bravo’s new show Million Dollar Decorators because the commercials for it were so awful.  It looks like a bunch of douches with dueling egos who don’t even know each other outside the show pretending to do some fake design projects for the benefit of the cameras.  Just name it “Real Housewives of Interior Design” and call it a fucking day.

What recession? The stars of Million Dollar Decorator have BUDGETS, baby.

The show actually begins Housewives-style with the five pretentious Los Angeles-based interior designers making grand pronouncements and then posing awkwardly while crossing their arms and stuff.  The attractive Jeffrey Alan Marks proclaims, “I don’t follow the trends, I set them!”  Well, he was attractive before he opened his damned mouth. 

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By Pure Film Creative
10
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March 7, 2011
KILLOUGH CHRONICLES

Desert Lesbian Realness

The best thing about these blogs is I sit here tinkling away at the keyboard some evenings — and you’d think I was high as a kite the way they come out, but I’m not, haven’t even had a drink since New Years — grinning like Liberace rolling on E while he plays the Turkish March for the blue-rinse brigade in Vegas.  Sometimes I will write something that catches me completely unaware and I snort and Coke Zero goes through my nose and onto the keyboard.

It’s not Spanking Galliano that gets me going these days, that’s sort of sad in a twisted way, and it’s certainly not the Satanic Natalie Portman.  It’s Mama Gaddafi from the House of Gaddafi.  I’m feeling a need to repost that image from an earlier blog with the caption:

Still furious about his exclusion from the seminal documentary on black drag queens,"Paris Is Burning," Mama Gaddafi from the House of Gaddafi vogues Pan-Arab Tyrant Realness while Our Fearful Leader tries not to giggle, lest Miss Thing bomb a United jumbo this time, now that Pan Am has gone out of business.

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By James Killough
4
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March 5, 2011
KILLOUGH CHRONICLES

Lady Gaga's All‑You‑Can‑Eat Vag Buffet

I have to admit, I briefly joined my nieces, Savannah (7) and Uma (5.5), as a fan of Lady Gaga after Bad Romance was released last year.  I thought it was stompin’ good fun, not to mention that it kept me company whenever I thought about my love life.  But she has lost me with this:

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wV1FrqwZyKw&w=640&h=390]

In a nutshell, it’s a very expensive sophomore art school project.  She is trying too hard and the results of her efforts fall short of her earlier video work.  And, yes, that last sentence was rewritten several times; Galliano has homos worldwide stopping themselves before they go too far with what they really think.

Even though my nieces are Episcopalian Hindus — also known in the more rarified circles of Tribeca as ‘Piscadoos’ — at the risk of sounding like an avuncular prig, I’m not sure I want them to see filmed reenactments of the Black Goddess Kali giving birth to the cosmos as might be interpreted by H.R. Giger.  I can just imagine explaining this video to them.

“Uncle James, what is Lady Gaga doing with her cooch-cooch?”

“She’s letting her vagina enjoy a David Cronenberg moment, darling.  And stop calling it cooch-cooch, you’re making it sound like a region in West Bengal.”

“What do you mean what you just said she’s doing with her vagina, then?”

“We’ll talk about it when you’re old enough to watch twisted R-rated psycho-dramas funded by the Canadian government.  How about we watch something appropriate, like The Tudors?”

They love The Tudors.

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By Pure Film Creative
4
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March 3, 2011
KILLOUGH CHRONICLES

I, Monster

I check my look in the mirror I wanna change my clothes, my hair, my face. — Bruce Springsteen, Dancing in the Dark [caption id="attachment_746" align="alignright" width="237" caption="The caption for this photo on the site I poached it from said, "Springsteen made it acceptable for men to wear bandanas around their heads." ...

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By Pure Film Creative
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