So Wes Craven died yesterday and, as a result, the world is a little less good. Craven is one of the greatest names in the history of horror, having created genre-defining films in multiple decades. He made a career out of spooky shit and will rightly be remembered for crafting some of horror cinema's most-enduring classics. Over the years, I have spent an ungodly amount of my free time watching and rewatching his oeuvre, and I can say with an exceptionally high degree of certainty that the man was a G . Now, in true internet fashion, I present to you my top five reasons why Wes Craven was a complete and total G. Of course, all five reasons are films, because nothing else would make sense. If you haven't seen the following movies, I would recommend that you quit your job, go home, and acquaint yourself with the their greatness.
#5: A NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET (1984)
Of Craven's classics, A NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET probably holds up the least, due in no small part to the sheer 80s-ness of it all. Nonetheless, its inventive premise, impressive visuals, and iconic villain combine to make this movie more than worth the watch.
It's days like today that make me glad I don't write about politics or news events of any kind on this blog. According to the internet, the world gets increasingly terrible with every passing moment. My various social media feeds are awash with election this, gun control that, and the overwhelming suspicion that literally every person, place, and thing is racist. But fuck all that, fam: let's look at a bunch of nice clothes and pretend like we rich. The Need Supply Fall 2015 Lookbook just dropped and it is as perfectly-curated as one would expect. Case-in-point: LOOK AT THOSE GODDAMN PANTS! They're the Vino Wide Trousers from Camo and I enjoy them very much. I enjoy the mottled wool, the dropped crotch, and the way they cover your genitals in public. I especially enjoy these trousers worn a little short like my dude up top, because nothing elevates an outfit like a sneaky peek at man ankles. True story.
Wearing a leather jacket is one of the traditional ways to indicate that you are a badass, much like ritual scarification or casual violence. A well-worn leather jacket signals to your fellow man that you don't play by the rules of the establishment like some sort of square, you follow your own code: the code of the open road, fueled by unfiltered cigarettes and perfumed by Harley exhaust. Freedom. America. U-S-A! U-S-A! Fuck to the yes. Do your patriotic duty and spend 1100 USD on a Schott Perfecto. Buy this hand-oiled, plaid-cotton-lined, naked cowhide leather jacket or the terrorists win. Yes, kids: it's just that simple.
I mentioned tweed yesterday and that reminded me that tweed is awesome, as evidenced by this Beams+ Harris Tweed Gore Coat. In technical tweed terms, Harris Tweed is "the shit". It's also "the world's only commercially produced handwoven tweed". The Scottish cloth has been around since the 1830s, its manufacture even enshrined in legislation, via the Harris Tweed Act 1993. So if you have 602 USD, head down to Unionmade and wear some history like the dapper gentleman you've always wanted to pretend to be. I should mention that Beams+ is a Japanese brand, because if you want the best heritage and workwear-inspired garments, you have to go to Japan. I don't know why I'm telling you this. You know this. About 87% of the clothes I write about are made in Japan. Seriously though, "JAPAN IS GOOD" could be the title of almost any post on this blog. Every moment I am not in Tokyo is a complete waste of time.
This Needles Camo S.M. Field Shirt Jacket is 70% cotton and 30% Tencel, which is a sub-type of rayon, which is a "manufactured regenerated cellulose fiber". Now you know. It's on sale for 166 USD over at Bureau Belfast and though that's a fair amount for a shirt, it's not necessarily too much for a jacket, hinging the value of this piece on whether you reverse layer that shit with another shirt. My wife thinks camouflage is silly, unless you are actively trying to conceal yourself from animals or humans you are planning to kill, but I disagree. Tweed was traditionally worn while hunting, but it's perfectly dope when worn to your local whiskey bar. Camo is no different: like tweed, it is just a pattern. And I can only assume that, like tweed, it will one day be associated with the sporting lives of the upper class.
What's this? Two posts in one day? Yes, dear readers, this is an ultra-rare bonus post. Don't get used to it. I'm not that generous. This is really just an addendum to my earlier post about FYF Fest, because I want to squeeze a little more content out of my weekend. Can you blame me? Those tickets weren't cheap, fam. I have no choice but to milk it with this FYF playlist, presented in chronological order through the two days of the festival. You know, for posterity.
I'm currently recovering from a long weekend of live music, nursing a wicked sonic hangover courtesy of FYF Fest. It all kicked off on Friday with an FYF Sideshow headlined by NAILS. Then it was off to FYF, where I saw everything, fam. And by 'everything', I mean a bunch of things, most of them quite good. I saw Run The Jewels, who delivered pure, uncut enjoyment every second of their performance (and surprise appearances by Zack de la Rocha, Travis Barker, and Gangsta Boo. I saw hipster kings Andrew Jackson Jihad and sang along with Joyce Manor. I saw ass cleavage and sunburns. I saw Will Swan and Jon Mess from Dance Gavin Dance in the audience at Title Fight. I saw Kanye do an excellent Kanye imitation and was entertained as fuck. Rihanna was also there. I saw a ton of weed-smoking. I saw and was jostled by moshing. But most importantly, I saw Death Grips.
I need to trip over a briefcase filled with money so that I can purchase every garment in Still By Hand's 2015 FW lookbook. Back in the day, I saw this softcore porno where a couple of friends are walking down the street and a briefcase falls from the sky right in front of them. It pops open and turns out to be chock full o' Benjamins. Then they do what any intelligent young women would do after receiving a sudden and unexpected windfall: they open a brothel (natch!) and live their dream of pimping out nubile runaways. Unfortunately for our heroines, the money rightly belonged to the mafia (natch!) and some murderous mobsters descend on the house of ill repute to reclaim their filthy filthy lucre. I don't remember how the story ends, but I suspect it has something to do with non-penetrative sex (just a guess). Anyway, if a briefcase filled with mob money flies off a roof and lands at my feet, I will use it to buy impeccable Japanese menswear, not to open a whorehouse.
It's still August, so I'm still lusting after the August Edit over at Need Supply. I especially dig this Still By Hand jacket, because a) it's from Japan b) it's camel-colored and c) I aspire to dress like that cool associate professor in the Theater Studies department, who teaches a seminar about performative language, even though I'll be the first one to get shit-canned when the pencil-pushers start slashing budgets. Occasionally I'd look out at the window, see the sun shining, and say "Let's have class outside today". Then we'd all go sit in a circle in the quad and discuss how powerful interest groups maintain hegemonic control of our society via lexical manipulation.
In order to not get kicked out of Silver Lake, I fuck pretty heavily with raw denim. I got a pair of UB201s from Unbranded right before moving to LA and, excepting the time I spent killing the business casual game at an office, I've worn them four to five times per week for about fourteen months. They've been washed five times and soaked once. Sometimes they smell like balls and artisanal coffee sweat, but DAT DEDICATION THO. Rarely have I committed to anything like I have to wearing the same pair of jeans for many days (aside from the beard and the wife). Now I can finally take part in one of hipsterdom's great rituals: the fade photo. It's also a fantastic excuse to post a couple of pictures and keep up the appearance that I work hard at blogging.
Above: a fresh pair of UB201s Below: my faded UB201s
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