Photography by Gabriel Cohen
I'm a fashion blogger. I write about peter pan collars and pink lipstick and the women who wear them best. I post thousands of images of fancy ladies vogueing the camera donned in inspring outfits that illicit both tears and smiles all with an effortless swish of a taffeta skirt. When I'm not posting on my own blog however, I'm devouring the many other gems on the internet. Fashion street photography of marvelous men and women galavanting in-between shows, photographer's personal websites showcasing dreamy editorials shot in far away places and, perhaps my most embarrassing
guilty pleasure, bloggers that find inspirational quotes and photoshop them on top of pixilated pictures of a couple kissing. One of the biggest trends in the blogosphere however are outfit posts, where bloggers manically clutch a Celine tote and stand in front of a brick wall on the streets of manhattan. They purse their lips and wiggle their knee caps and occasionally turn around to showcase the tiny pleat on the back of their Isabel Marant jacket. I wanted to try it out for myself.
At first, I thought I was doing a pretty good job. I had Tyra's voice in my head and I was trying to eye fuck the shit out of the camera. Smize smize smize. Karlie had nothing on me! I was already beginning to plan a new outfit post when I returned to Minnesota (read: fur on fur on fur) when things started to go downhill.
In an effort to look carefree, fabulous and breezy I took out my top bun and shook out my hair. Fuck the bench, I was ready for bigger and better. In order to showcase my footwear, I tried to be both aerobic and seductive:
When that failed, I attempted to illuminate my jacket in new innovative ways:
But things got rough.
Next time, I think i'll leave it to the professionals.
(Jakcket: vintage, Top: Steven Alan, Jeans: J brand, Shoes: Converse All Stars, Watch: Michael Kors)