Revelations

Here's a bunch of shit that's got me going lately. I find myself being pleasantly surprised by the unexpected, thus leaving me unstable and unsure of myself yet again. I find my expectations being met and I find myself reveling yet again in aesthetic beauty, and mourning the dilapidated state of my bank account. Here's a small dose of what's touched me in the past couple of days.

New Nike Tennis Vintage sneakers. Ok so I'm not the biggest Nike, let alone sneakers guy. But I can't help being attracted to the traditional simplicity of these kicks. They're not as ostentatious as most Nikes. I've never used this word before, but I believe bespoke is apt. OOh yes I did it, I said the design word of 2009, I'm so in touch with design now aren't I...
Print shirts suck. There, I said it. Modular, I point my finger directly at you and your unorthodox 'hand perpetually on dick on forehead' ways. However, there have been a few print tees that have popped up lately that venture way beyond the acceptable threshold and actually sit quite comfortably in 'dope' county. Honourable mentions to the Australian indie label Luuk (link) and 'The French Brand' Kulte (link) whose little numbers are printed above. I just noticed that bearded men are prevalent themes in both ranges. Nothing better than rocking an oversized creepy motherfucker across your tits.
Established and Sons have done it again. Never failing to impress, they've brought out a new range of snazzy little lamps. I like the triangular one lyyykk wayyzzz totez much. I tip my hat to E&S and the designer behind them who I've forgotten the name of and am too lazy to go find it again.
Isn't Charlotte Gainsboroug just the best? What does she even do? A triple threat? But not in the conventional act-sing-dance Mr G context, but just in a trifecta of creative awesomeness, always popping up to pleasantly surprise me in the most forgiving situations, making me weak at the knees with that perfectly stitched, or I retort, seamless, Frenchy-Brit accent.

Hanging out to see The Antichrist, that new gutwrentching emotional art-haus flick by Lars Von Trier.

I won't babble on about this because I've been writing this post for fucking ages and I'm kind of over it and no one, honestly no one will probably ever read this. But thank you kindly if you do. It's an invite to some party that you or I would never be invited to, hosted by uber-chic fashion gazette Acne Paper. Just one flip through an installment of the aforementioned and you'll be humbled by the magnificent euro-style design and layout. Minimal, elegant and bespoke. This invitation is the pinnacle of elegance.
Usually I reject novelty design, brushing it off with a lighthearted laugh or a animus curl of the upper lip. But there's something about this benchy, coffeetably thingy that is adorable. This is awesome. The sourest, mundane, souless victim to religions most personality crushing sect would walk into an apartment and see this and still get a kick out of it. More fun than a day at your nana's house.