Nomad Style: An Elegy to the Good Times. A Fairwell to my Friend Katharine Wand.

Series 1: The Farewells. Boccioni, 1911.

"The sixteen people around you in a rolling omnibus are in turn and at the same time one, ten, four, three; they are motionless and they change places; they come and go, bound into the street, are suddenly swallowed up by the sunshine, then come back and sit before you, like persistent symbols of universal vibration."

‘Manifesto of Futurist Painters’, Boccioni, Carrà, Russolo, 1912; as quoted in “Futurism”, ed. By Didier Ottinger; Centre Pompidou / 5 Continents Editions, Milan, 2008, p. 146 (artist quotes, Umberto Boccioni)

Those who Go, Boccioni, 1911.

Buddists believe that stasis is the end of everything. To be without connection to other things or people is freedom. Through meditation, they search for zen, a state of enlightened calm. And I think that in Katharine's world, working as an air steward for Air Transat, the notion of being able to let go, to beginning again and to be constantly looking forward is not only comforting but vital in terms of staying emotional and psychologically intact.

But I am not an air steward. I am not a Buddhist. I am an clingy and notoriously passionate and too often give into the childish impulse of riding the full spectrum of the human emotion. In this moment find myself giving into sadness, descending into melancholy for simply I don't want to let go of my friend. I hate this idea of being left behind. I begrudge my friend for her step towards new direction despite the fact that it is what she needs.

I want her to be around for me when I'm sad, when i want to drink a bottle of wine and smoke a pack of cigarettes and listen to and rhapsodize about art and rap and everything in between until i fall asleep at five o'clock in the morning. I want her to be around for me when I'm happy, when I'm nervous and exited about a boy, for her to be there to remind me that i don't look like a man and that when I'm not on the defensive I can actually almost be like her, attractive, charismatic and magnetic. I want to pout my lips, tear up and exclaim "it's not fair!"at the thought that she will soon be gone, across the country and tangibly out of my life.

Those Who Stay, Boccioni, 1911.

Canadian Contributor

Family has never come easy to me. Aside for my parents, they have always been far away from me, be it because of geography or just complete lack of understanding. I don't understand them and they never really took the time to know me, a fact that as an adult I have found a sort of piece with, but as a child caused me no end of tears and grief. For as long as I can remember, i have always felt like an outsider, teetering somewhere on the edge of wanting desperately to be a part of the group but maintaining my distance because i know the cruelty big groups can create and the pain of being the one that doesn't fit in.

I think it is for this reason that I love nomads, these ephemeral being that come into my life as individuals, representative of no group, free of association and in need of companionship but not attachment. Together we are free to create ourselves anew, defining our own experiences and finding out what it is we truly want out of life without prescription, undefined by any of those people that were instrumental in creating our character. The only problem, however, is that when you love nomads, you are always having to say goodbye. 

"Katharine" is an alternate spelling of Katherine that emphasizes the link to the Greek "katharos," or "pure." And as much as I know she would love to deny it, beyond the image of the boozing, drugging pleasure seeking, jet setting hedonist that we know all know and love, lies the essence of a woman the is more true to her name than anyone could have predicted ; in that she is the picture of sensitivity and her heart is sweet. The reason she burns so brightly is that she had found it within herself to confidently celebrate her own external and internal beauty.

So to Katharine i wanna say thank you for the good times my dear. It's been a blast. You are living proof that style and class have nothing to do with how much money you have. Your ability to stay true to yourself and loyal to your friends, to speak the truth loudly even in challenging times has inspired me.  I hope that this new chapter in your life brings you luck, love and happiness. Here's to getting naked in fountains all over the world!

men just cant get enough

katie has had enough haha

Soul sister

I was searching for pictures of great looks in my files, and I found these. My favourite people have great styles, but you are the ones to judge that. Enjoy!

Fashionable young one.

Blue hair dreams in black.

I'm turning japanese.

The greatest.

Acid Trip.

Dresses and boots.

The girl with the funny skirts.

I'll delete you with the power of my finger.

The powerful finger.

I can't stop reading between lines. It doesn't matter if I'm part of the conversation or not, but I can't help it. Last night I was feeling a little blue, so I called my best friend from high school: 28 year old biker guy, who is in love with his motorcycle and his many many pairs of steal-toe boots. We had a six pack while we were trying to discover why relationships are so complicated. As you might know, my dear reader, we couldn't find the answer but at least we got pretty drunk and the sadness suddely disappeared. He was playing motorhead and iron maiden while I was getting dress to go out, and try to do a little research about our dilemma.
I wore a sequined black blouse, high rise black shorts, black pale tights and my doctor martens boots. Lots of make up on my eyes, I love mac's club satin eyeshadow, and my black liquid eyeliner, which, my friends, is a must have. He was very sweet and said that I looked great, perfect for our experiment. He was wearing a Slayer black t-shirt, and black jeans, and obviously, black boots.
We both look hot, and very darky for the place we were going. It was my first time there, and it sucked, I don't know if it was because of the music, or because of the audience, or just because I'm heart-broken, or maybe because we didn't know anyone in there. It was a place full of 22 year old people, whose parents have no idea what are their children doing at night. Drugs, electronic music and sweaty faces are a combination that usually culminates in not-wanted-pregnancy.
We felt totally out of place, we didn't belong there, but the worst part is that we don't belong anywhere. It's hard to find a place where you can hear nice rock music, full of nice dressed people, with enough age to know that the world it's an awful place and that is hardly anything to do about it. I'm sick and tired of those young revolutionary kids, who smoke pot all the fucking time and think that they can change the world, and that if they haven't done it yet, is just because they are busy with their reflection in the mirror.
Yeah, I'm bitter this morning, but how could I not be if yesterday I realized that this new generation kinda sucks, the good looking guys and girls, are empty attempts of older generations, from the hippies 'til the so called generation x. Eddie Vedder? Yeah, many guys are trying to look just like him, but they miss the point, They don't have any slogans under their flannel shirts.
Nowadays, you can go to Urban Outfitters, and choose what group you wanna be part of. Although in the mexican case, you have to be upper middle class, to be able to fly to San diego, just to buy your new you.
I love fashion, but I also love "political" commitment. Understanding the Aristotelian definition for politics, as an ideological way to make decisions in group with the only intention to achieve some goals.
The people who I saw last night were lacking of anything, but the intention of getting drunk and laid.

Yes, we can!

I don't know if it's my age or what, but I think fashion is art. You don't become a painter from day to night, just to get some chicks under your sheets, right? or maybe yes, and that could explain why am I a lonely bitter person.
I like when people make a statement with teir clothes, like Lady Gaga or Madonna, back in the 80s. It's not to look sexy just to look sexy, the way I see it is more like you look sexy because you are breaking some rules in the stablishment. It's like when girls weren't suppose to wear pants, or when you take your bra off and wear a sheer blouse.
And even more, as a girl you are sexier if you wear wicked clothes and also decided to take the control in a relationship with a man. Sadly, that scares them. It's one thing to make out with a girl who wears a leather mini skirt and a sheer blouse in a club, but for some man (the mayority, in this city) is a completely different thing to  take you seriously and talk about life and politics with you, if you dare to set the rules of the relationship. If we took the power from them, they feel naked, vulnerable. As girls, we are only allow to look good, not to take the bull for its horns. If you are pretty and intelligent, they become the weakest part, and that threat their masculinity, so if you call them, they will give you many different excuses to stop seeing you. From "I'm very busy with my projects" 'til "I don't have the monetary solvency for a relationship"... Yeah, for a relationship that "I'm not gonna rule". A woman cannot be the captain of their boats. Well, we don´t want that right? So if we even meet a guy like that, just use the power of your finger and erase his contact from your cellphone, from your facebook account or whatever, that's one of the benefits of this new social network era, you can easily erase someone from your cyberlife. Sometimes people are just a typing error, you must delete.

Two woman with the power of money.

And that was pretty much the same advice I gave my friend, but the other way around, he met this girl who is wainting him to treat her as an object, so anytime he asks her something, her opinions or whatever, she gets all freak out. "You are suppose to make the decisions" She told him. Well there is always a future housewife for a future jerk. The bad news, is that they are everywhere, sometimes dressed nicely, so it's difficult to be aware of the stupidity of humans.

Two fist of solid rock...

Once I wanted to be the greatest....

Totally Naked Little Woman.

"Why do I have to clean up a mess that I didn't make," he said while he was trying to mop the floors, taking away all the beer and wine stains from many nights ago, the nights that he had spent at my place, leaving his roomate home alone.
"Because life is a bitch babe" I replied. I couldn't look him in the eye. Actually I was trying to hide between his huge ripped grey sofa and my sense of guilt.

In a way, he wasn't just cleaning up the floors, but also my life, my heart, my past.

For so long I've been crying for an old young love that I had. He has been the reason why I constantly write and why I, all of the sudden, stop doing it.
There are just a few words to describe my pain, and I've used them all.

I met him last week, it's funny, that night i didn't make  an effort to find what to wear.
I picked my sequined 70s blue and red shirt, and my high rise black pants from American Apparel. Again, I had to wear wedges just to feel part of the tall crowd.
He was there, with his messy brown hair, beautiful young smile and very kissable lips. Wearing a tight vest, vintage tie, and an amazing pair of black biker boots, for which my old young lover could have killed for.
I thought he was hot, but what I liked the most was that he radiated some kind of innocence, like if he stills believes in the world.

For me, it was a regular party. Fancy people, hipsters all over the place, going from one way to another, holding cigarettes without a filter and  cheap beer, in a 70s lighted dance floor in which nobody was actually dancing.

"Stop! Don't kiss me, I just put some lipstick on" I was trying to protect my infallible Chanel red lover french complice. 
"I don't care," he said and grabbed me from my shoulders. I had to look up, he is taller than me, and I found a  kind teenage smile.
"I wont kiss you," was my response, even though my eyes were challenging him to do it.
"Then, I will do it". And he gave me a cute warm kiss, that took me far far away from that roof. We made a memory that we have been sharing  in our pillow talks.

That evening, when I chose what to wear that night, I wasn't expecting to take any of my clothes off, at least not in front of someone.
He drove my car, and parked it outside of my building.
I went upstairs with a giggle.  My heart was racing like a teenager about to make out for the first time.

The wowman who wants to see me happy

In this case, my parents weren't sleeping in the other room, instead, my recently "in a relationship" roommate was. I didn't want to wake her up, but also didn't want her to judge me: "How could you say you still love your old young lover if you are going to get a stranger under your sheets?"
Now I know that she wouldn't say something like that to me. She just wants to see me happy, not crying 24/7 in my bed. And right now, I kinda look happy, But I know that sometimes happiness could be mistaken with excitement.

It's been so long since I had sex: I lost my libido since my old young love crossed our front stoop for the last time; leaving me with all those bills, all the furniture, all the memories and empty walls, and the worst part: All the silence from what used to be a noisy love nest.
Getting laid wasn't something in my plans, I have been busy trying not to cry every fucking time that Russell Brand appears on T.V. or in a magazine. He reminds me of my old young love. Sometimes I feel the Mexican version of Katy Perry, and that our destiny will be to be together, just like them, probably without the expensive Indian wedding though.
It seems that  the teenager's logic never disappears, in spite of the age.

I never had to come up with an elaborated conversation that would help me to reveal "my secret" in the future with a stranger.
In a way, I've always expected my old young love to come back, So I didn't have to talk about a secret that we both share.
I've a STD, nothing too serious, nothing mortal, Thank God.
Before I met my Russell Brand, I was perfectly healthy, just a regular free of STD girl. Then, a couple of months after we moved in together, I noticed something strange; he and I went to the doctor and that was it, one of my worst sexual nightmares became true.
I don't blame him, it wasn't his fault. Actually it was nobodies fault. He didn't know he had it, he couldn't warned me.
For the first few weeks I was devastated, then I learned to live with it, I have a new tenant in my body, and I will always will.
The time passed and we started to act normal again, like no tension for the bad news, after all we were going to be together forever. What a joke life and love plays to us. I knew that nothing is forever, but now I truly believe it.

So, there I was, all naked, no pants, no sequined blouse, no shoes, no make up on, just my fearful skin lying on my flowery comforter, and then, I realized I was still "wearing" something that I had to take it off: "my secret".
No designers, no brands, just the truth.

"Look"- I said while I was staring at a phrase I wrote on my window: Live the life you imagined.- "I have to tell you something before we do anything".

I kept talking, I was scared, but I had to do it, even though that could mean:
-not seeing him again.
-not having his company again.
-Losing him before I even had him.

"So..." - and I sighed - "That's my secret".
I felt ashamed, unprotected, exposed. There wasn't my Chanel sunglasses to wear and hide my glossy eyes under the shades.No my Gucci high heels to make me feel taller and strong. Nope, there was nothing but a revealed secret, a naked conscientiousness.

I could never put someone throw the horrible experience of going to the doctor and leaving his office with more than just a prescription.
These are new times, and if we, woman want to become a wowman, and wanna be in control of our lives, we have to be strong and brave enough, not just to dare to wear a super high heels, Eiffel Tower size; or to put on our lips some exotic color; or even wear as many bracelets as we want... No, sometimes we will have to show a clean face, no make up on baby, just the truth, even if that means letting someone else to see a part of us that we dislike.
It's easy to cover up a pimple with foundation; or to make our eyes or lips look bigger or smaller, depending on our complexes.
It's easy to look slimmer wearing the right clothes on, or to look sexier with the help of a  Wonderbra. but there are somethings that you cannot hide, you should not hide, things that you must reveal, no matter what.

We didn't have sex that night, but shortly after I confessed, I felt a warm breeze on my skin, I felt proud of myself. We could see the sunrise through my window, writing on the floor with a courageous shadow the phrase I had written when I moved to this apartment.

My fears were gone, being honest didn't take him away from me. We are just two people excited about what can happen tomorrow, two people smiling.

Today, just like he said, I realized there's gonna be many episodes in this life, and in some of them, someone will have to clean up a mess that he/she, didn't do, didn't cry, didn't enjoy.
He left the mop for a moment, and before he came and silenced me with a kiss, I kept repeating to myself: "Life's a bitch babe, life's a bitch".

The mexican contribuitor kissing Audrey Hepburn, a wowman.

My many different shoes.

This are some of the shoes that are taking me far away from my old young love, and closer to the dance floor.
Pictures taken by the furious Perrito Bebé.

Condoms are The New Black

No joke, Chanel Condoms, $279 for 12

"The tension between sexual danger and sexual pleasure is a powerful one in women's lives. Sexuality is simultaneously a domain of restriction, repression and danger as a well as a domain of exploration, pleasure and agency. To focus on pleasure and gratification alone ignores the patriarchal structure in which women act, yet to speak of...sexual oppression ignores women's experiences with sexual agency and choice and...increases...the sexual despair in which women live."  Carole S. Vance; Pleasure and Danger: Towards a Politics of Sexuality from Pleasure and Danger: Exploring Female Sexuality, P.1. Routledge Press, 1993.

Martin Luther King Jr. and  Coretta Scott King, 1953.

This week, the United States marked the twenty-fourth annual Martin Luther King Jr. Day. Dr. King was an eloquent "Baptist minister and leader of the civil-rights movement in America from the mid-1950s until his death by assassination in 1968." He was a voice of hope, courage and reason and lead a firmly non-violent campaign to end segregation, racial inequality and racism in an America. While African American males were being treated "as less than men," he acted as a fierce opponent against the oppression of the American Negro at the hands of their Government, the law, the FBI, the CIA, the Police and even the American Military.  (1) In his most famous speech on the steps in front of the Lincoln Memorial on the National Mall in Washington, D.C in 1963 "We hold these truths to be self evident. That all men are created equal. I have a dream."

"I Have a Dream" Speech, 1963

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was a brilliant leader and spoke loudly and reasonably against racial hatred and bigotry. He was not silenced in the face of violence directed towards him and his family or the Black Community that he represented. He was known, however, to have what people would call "a weakness for women" was rumored to have several marital infidelities.

Now I say this not to discount the work of  Dr. King  or even to speak to the validity of the rumors. I mean simply to examine the concept that "we find it hard to imagine that ordinary human beings with ordinary flaws might make a critical difference in work of social cause."(2) Despite being a great leader and strong voice for the disenfranchised, Dr. King was human and vulnerable to the same temptation as you and I. He is symbolic not only of human frailty and human greatness but of a general human quality that causes us to view people as black or white, good or bad, and forget that while people may be essentially good, they are capable of doing bad things, even to the people they love.The German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche wrote of this duality:

"Man is a rope, tied between beast and [superman]--a rope over an abyss. A dangerous across, a dangerous on-the-way, a dangerous looking-back, a dangerous shuddering and stopping. What is great in man is that he is a bridge and not an end: what can be loved in man is that he is an overture and a going under. I love those who do not know how to live, for they are those who cross over."

Figure A

Figure B

Why am i writing about this in blog that's supposed to be about sex and fashion? Because at the end of the day, i feel that the way we conceptualize icons Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., follows us into our daily lives, into what we choose to wear and into our sexual relationships. Whether we idolize our partners sexually, romantically or both, we have a tendency to paint them as we wish to see them, as an impression. We abstract the fact that although we may love and/or desire them, they are still capable of doing us great harm, not only emotionally but physically. More specifically, men that we trust are capable of being unfaithful, and/or of exposing  us wittingly or unwittingly to STI's. (Sexually Transmitted Infections)

All them men I have been with have been with have somewhere gray,  between dogs and saints. I have had several STIs scares and i question I always ask my self after is why does it take a look back for me to see the mongrel in the angel?