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Jingle Post!



To find out what dates we are, I turn to my pockets lately. If tickets are full of shops (as is the case) is that it is Christmas. If my bank account is shrinking at supersonic speed, it's Christmas. If I have a dinner every Friday of the week is Christmas. If it's cold, it's Wednesday and I have work and G is swallowed without chapters as Scooby Doo, is that it is Christmas.
Before I had a kind of unjustified hate the holidays beloved but recently discovered that what happens is that I was swayed by environmental pessimism. Everyone has a reason to hate these days and rarely do we remember the reasons we have to love them unconditionally.



For example: We
health and work which is not bad.
We have money to spend on gifts and friends to greet them.
The shop windows are prettier in December.
January seems very distant and not tell you in February (and the card clubs of the day later.)
can eat without remorse.
can drink without remorse (though this is something I practice regularly.)
People still send greeting cards, something much cooler than the mobile phone chain letter to whom, if anyone does not know, do not ever answer. If you wish to answer, at least Work it.
Cities decorated.



Karl Lagerfeld amazes me with the wonderful work he has done for this year's Pirelli Calendar. Too bad you do with Chanel I click on the globe.
Life can surprise you at any time as when you go to take a came to San Miguel Market and discover in the next table having dinner alone in the great Maria Navarro (muse where available).
put on TV ads for perfume, my favorite all year. They are good to bad, real works of art.
I look forward to New Year's Eve at Clara Clairvoyant (hopefully not become a flood; disadvantages of living next to a river) and above all, Invisible Friend, that invention that we do not have children as an excuse to give us things.
I like winter evenings with the street people fucked spending like no tomorrow nor a God over us.
I like my friends re-read all my post, which says a lot about them and lots of luck I have.
I like to remember and share memories with my friends on the morning of Kings when we were kids. I like the face that puts us all. It is as if the boy who went out to look at life for a moment.
I love all things that make me forget the everyday every day is uglier and more hell.
For these reasons and more that everyone should add to your taste, this year I'm super for Christmas.



Note: I managed to finish an optimistic post without mentioning the word CRISIS and air traffic controllers. Mini spot for me.

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"Oh how trendy you are!" Petitions



seems obvious yet it seems unnecessary to repeat it: fashion (if any) is short-lived in itself, is fundamental in nature. Fads come and go and be entertained on the road. But there are people who does not know. There are people so worried about being "fashionable" that consequently the total becomes outmoded. There is more to do Chonis and Bums and vice versa to realize that the metrosexual is dead. Thank God for that. Now it has become a marginal outpost like going to get any of the emerging neighborhood in Street or vote for the PP. Purely marginal.

few years ago (not many) the plucking, lie creams, antiojeras (if with some illuminator much better), be sensible and wear their hair sculpture such as Richard Serra was more than the very, very. Today, it has become something identification of what your social strata, and what is worse, what is your cultural stratum. If you were born in Ventanielles and strive much, much, much can live in Plaza de America. If you were born in Conde de Toreno and you gilipoyas, does not save you nor the charity (which my mother would say). Twist of fate and excess hair gel, I guess.




I've spent my whole life running away from what they call "modernity" but apparently not run fast enough, according to the image you project to others. Today I told a colleague: "Come, I will teach you a jacket that is made for you. It hits everything." I will not waste time explaining the band of the jacket. A cold sweat ran down my back, not the cloth itself, but by the perception that this good girl was me. As it seems, everything I think is reflected in my face automatically (although I think I do something about it), the girl did not understand anything and just fixed added (cuquina face that is also something that sparks me enough): "but if it hits galore: it was to see her and think of you." Manda cojones.
I have to add that is not the first time it happens. In the closet I have some things given away on birthdays with all the good faith of the world and I prefer to pull up the nails of pain rather than wear them. All of them were bought by people who thought (from the bottom of your heart) that "were made for me." Thanks but NO.



This modernity is something slippery and quite dangerous. Or you run short, or not arrive. No one is modern because. Everything takes time and process. Right now the art is not. Use modern in the sense of "fashion" or "follow fashion", never in the sense of "current" or "contemporary." Examples
there to give and take. The latest and bloodiest metrosexuality is female or what DKNL called "Elle Girl." Elle Girls love (but never admit it) to Sara Carbonero and in general, any time presenter five minutes of having anorexia. They do not want trendiest or anything like that. Not interested in trends or what the proposed footbridge. Is little understood. They want to be cute (and if you can be sweeping) at any time and occasion.
They are easily identified by their addiction to skinny jeans, the heels, big bags and the damn colored bracelets with crosses at the end. I guess that will have a specific name but my ignorance prevents me from going further.



From here, given my fondness for all sorts of lists, I refuse to give a brief list of things or attitudes that I consider today's hyper-modern, November 2010 (subject of next month, or even next week are other completely different.) Is it about modernity. Let it. Things
must absolutely modern and up:
to always wear the medal of the First Communion, regardless of which over the years and the practice of unspeakable sins you've become an atheist / a of three pairs of faces. Moorehead

your boyfriend with great profusion of drool as you take them (politely) the ring finger to a man who looks like a lady and that is standing on a sort of phone booth on wheels. Not great López Vázquez in the cabin of Mercer. B16 is in the Popemobile (sometimes I have to explain myself, which says a lot of boiling in my head as I write).

a blog and never appear in him.

a blog and make it little attention.

Go insane at work and mount a fifteen Christ, which is what happened to a buddy of mine on Tuesday morning. We are still recovering from the shock. If you liked me before, now I like even better. MUSO!.

say things the way you think whoever falls (note that this is the most difficult of all).

Dare to say that Fangoria's latest album is good and his concert at the MTV EMA, even better.

you like the bulls say.

Dare to say (and very funny that you do) you all, I repeat TO-DO, making Lady Gaga has been taken before a buck of Detroit.

have absolute faith in social networking. Women

View Rich and worship Mariana Nannis above all things.

Kissing your boyfriend when you come home and feel that is the best time of day.

breakfasts at Casa Moncho. Read

with absolute devotion to Almudena Grandes. His latest novel, Inés and joy, is the best I've read lately. He has once again done it again. Press is once again mercilessly Springs real emotion. He has once again given birth to a genius (" Fernandooooooooooooo ....").

And, in this modernity, I always remember the ladies to the door of the Sun Metro hoarse proclaiming: " Chanel, Chanel, Loesves ... oh, what fashion they are!".

That's it.

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Today my horoscope advised me to watch what I eat at work better appreciate my sense of humor at home, to resume an activity that I have abandoned and that if I have no partner is the right time because the stars have decided to re-wet ...
Well, look how nice. After a month away from almost everything has to be Madame Solange and sms to time, make me come back with ideas but not very clear is that I have to admit, even I was offended to see the date of my last post.
seems unbelievable the things that have happened in all this time. Last thing I remember was to put some bullshit broth sables and since then the world is not the same as it was. Alber Elbaz (clinker, clinker) is seduced by the Swedish Zara, the most in blogger the world is no longer up facebook and has shaved his hair (head), is gone forever the great Manuel Alexandre, was given the Nobel to Vargas Llosa, the Prince of Asturias my beloved Amin Maalouf and after years Fangoria repeating that they will not release a compilation or go back to playing his old songs because they "are not a band of people," go and amaze us with El Paso's Transcendental Vaudeville to Astracanada. No one better than themselves for review and I must say that they do very well. Invaluable collaboration of the great Fabio (Mcnamara) de Miguel, pop star and artist highly prized in some circles of Madrid and surrounding nonsense.



also left us unexpectedly and saw Nestor Kitchner live tears of the great Cristina, more aware than anyone of writing his own legend.
Felipe Gonzalez (one of the finest men I know) advocates the legalization of drugs (that rule!) And un Rajoy in El Pais in an interview that the only thing that is clear is that no commitment to allow queers that we're married if it reaches the Moncloa (palace, no bottle zone). A great novelty.
Obama is órdago took a stick and people are surprised by the shift to the right of (probably) most fascist country in the world. Rajoy said that the PP and there will be no Tea Party. Sure. What if you want a Tea Party with all the English fascism life has much more glamorous?. The day of general strike called a taxi driver who took me to work trying to convince me that manis were much more fun when he was young. Normal. It was gray!. I guess for him were really fun. Remains to be seen if those who ran before felt the same.



More: Belen Esteban is alive, thank God. The Duke of Feria was married to a girl with a face of someone you know (I still do not know who), Valentino has returned to take the needle to the great Nati, Kalina of Bulgaria has successfully completed gender reassignment and this is the post 500 of the advantages. Acknowledge before an anonymous (or not) you remember me, it's not the best I've written but there is.
When I decided to open my own blog was not aware of anything but saved me a lot. Since then I've had better times and worse, wanting to close and also the feeling that they could not live without it. From the early days when my time was occupied by the blogosphere until now that I have some ideas left by drought, many things have changed but I have to say it was worth, it's worth.



At first, read all blogs I could. I ate all devoured alive (and beasts) and never thought never in the winter, but winter comes but do not want. And a gray morning, the screen was needed. I am no longer interested in everyone. And so I went from having thousands of posts on favorite to take only a few for me were and are essential. From the Sartorialist to Katelovesme through the Alaska and Mario, Nacho Canut, Find yourself a boyfriend or Mobile Photos Guille Mostaza. I can not stand the street style (except for Scott) and there are some that no longer exist and that I miss. Some also do not read because I get bored miserably.
But there are also those who have become more than necessary for me. Are those blogs that make me guilty conscience if you do not read every day. Funny how that is something that does not happen if left over a month to update mine. They (and I mention them specifically), Popy Blasco (for me the best blogger there), Lucio China (wikipedia fashion that someone should launch to stardom), Dipordior (Galician taste), Raquel Gratis Total (long nose and charm), Plutonic (unless I was lavish but writes much better than I will ever) and The Enlightened Man, Man Confused, The Pilgrim and Cool Frenesi.
A all the way thanks for teaching.
Thanks also to all those who bother to comment on the crap I write and my 80 (ya!) regular followers.

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listener MA (Marrache) DRID Fashion Week













had no intention to chronicle the 52 th edition of Pasarela Cibeles (this his real name, and will always Rociito Rociito), since it is already struck by bloggers rather than addicts, former addicts and outsiders. But as the end of the day, this is my blog (and I fuck when I want) because there he goes.
This time I will not say anything about the (few) shows I liked, just nothing about the (many) they put me on the edge of the arch and I do want to review something about the attitude that, in my humble opinion, should prevail in this fashionable home appointment.
The data are devastating. According to the great Lucas Arraut (El País, 19/9/1910), this edition has lasted six days were expected an attendance of 60,000 people (official parades and showroom of the Ego), 50 parades, 1300 accredited journalists which just over 100 were foreign journalists (mainly Latin American capitals) and 3 million budget of which:
Ifema contributes 55% of the investment. Sponsors
number, 25%.
Madrid, 15%.
Designers, 5%.

These are the official figures of Cybele. All this, plus a maze of three pairs of nostrils that moves hundreds of people "related work" so that after the English fashion pundits want us to find cheese. How is it possible that the roll of the train that is a trend that struck down (no more than take a look at the street) we want it cast into (at least) three more shows like more???. See they not online?. You do not read fashion magazines?. They do not know that is something that already proposed Miu Miu last season?. Or IF you know?. I no longer understand anything. Long ago that I do not understand anything. Why
people who are supposed to know of his office perpetrated collections that make you want to mourn?. Victorio and Luchino should march in The Ego?. Where were those wonderful collections in which they merely do what they do best?. Sometimes progress is not necessarily good especially if you do not know where to go. Why
Angel Schelesser Hanibal Laguna and again and again present the same collection?. Cibeles
should drastically reduce their number of participants? What paint
Juana Martín, Carlos Díez, Javier Larraínzar or Modesto Lomba in this mess?
Given that the best collections are those of the people presenting bathroom, Cibeles should be reduced to that? Public
Why not start clapping endlessly with each output of the great Elio Benhayer?
do some collections are praised and others are not?
When will they change the model casting?
These are just some of the questions that occur to me all of a sudden but sure would be many more.

from this humble forum propose a radical change of attitude in the audience attending the parades. Do not include celebrity guests (who wear clothes in the front row of that tap and then pull Galliano in the finery without any restraint or modesty), or modern art hours or purchased bloggers.
I'm talking about people who truly is interested in fashion as cultural expression. That rare species will see Cibeles fashion.
Just as in the Real booed a tenor or applauded for fifteen minutes at a soprano ... why there is a similar attitude to fashion?.
I am afraid that until people will not rise to the nonsensical mess you are seeing on the catwalk, this is not going to change. Fashion as a culture but also as an industry will never be taken seriously until we do not like. Is urgently needed a change of attitude in press (embarrassing the retransmissions of the television only gives minimal coverage), sponsors (Not everything is to sell more vodka), organizers (someone will stop Cuca Solana feet) and above all, public. It is the only way. I doubt that Ferran Adria had become the best chef in the world without (of course) his talent and no critical attitude.
Someone has to say NO to stop this from being the cool place where people are going to backfire a couple of weeks per year.
For the sake of fashion and that if they do fashion.

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I'm from one generation to the grunge hit hard by hail fall cacereño when we thought all was lost. Too far by age of the alleged modernez and irreverence of the Madrid scene, especially the unbearable lightness of being hippie-corregrises post Franco, there was nothing to stir us as it is supposed to be in full early youth.
And suddenly, we look to the rainy English to direct our interest to rain elsewhere in the world: Seattle. Kurt Cobain and his family put us in a shaker and began to stir without mercy. Here we are ... entretenednos!. Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Hole (especially the fabulous Celebrity Skin) we confirmed that there were other worlds, there were other people in other parts of the world also felt that nothing existential. Was no longer the No Future Punk in the late seventies, not the angst of Generation X (whatever that is), was another matter. Was better.
No future, no way out, there is no possibility that this society that overwhelms you consume will give you the slightest chance to participate in this paradise. There is another option: have fun. No matter what you wear. It only matters that you a good time.



And it was the reign of the shirts for more t-shirts, lumberjack shirts, jackets, sweat pants, the jeans torn, the wool hats in summer. Grunge (or whatever then be understood as such), had become visible to the world when it was years exist in the working-class suburbs of big cities.
And as with everything, the market ate it. The video for Smell like teen spirit of Nirvana, repeated ad nauseam on MTV planetary populated the streets of dirty hair, t-shirts and Converse on who knew better times. Marc Jacobs became known to the general public precisely because of its luxe reinterpretation of what was happening off the catwalk. The whole world breathed again. A new fashion had arrived. Everything was labeled and in place. It was (again) spring in El Corte Ingles.
At that time the temple which was headed our steps daily El Ziel. Suffice it to say to get a brief idea of \u200b\u200bthe kitten's fur were proud that a skier Barbie pink dress hanging behind the bar. A declaration of intent. The parish was divided mainly into two: first, the survivors of the 80's (those who are everywhere), advanced in years (not in meats) and joint in hand always willing to give the plate with his adventures past anyone. I saw the Ramones at 80, I was at the concert Hardwood or I was one of the punks who threw eggs and burst (creating an indelible trauma hundreds of girls) Hombres G concert in Cathedral Square. Well look that well. I, me, me, me ...



On the other hand, was (were) the new breed, a mix of university students and ni-nis of all walks of life united by love of hashish and Mahoney and, of course, to grunge. Between joints (many) games Parcheesi and Trivial or long silences or introspective conversations peppered with phrases that later would become our personal history ("how people ...") spent the afternoon and evening of our tiny existence.
Of the few things I remember clearly at that time opiate (The Zielo was in some way, as the 80's, if you remember everything you have not lived) is that every evening at nine o'clock or maybe a little before, appeared at the bar a girl, probably Romanian, selling flowers, lighters or directly through the city begging. However, in the Zielo not. Bar Girls (solidarity like none), he served in silence, with hardly a nod in greeting, a Coca Cola. She sat on a stool, alone, without speaking to anyone, was carefully removed the scarf that covered his head, lit a cigar and drank his Coke. Slowly. No hurry. Was probably enjoying its best time of day. I also remember his clothes. That was the absolute best for us. Grunge was authentic.
When he finished his drink, turned to make handkerchief, he thanked just not talking to the girls and (never paid because the invited always) out of the bar. A street. To continue to sell flowers, or lighters or beg. A whatever. In daily life stopped for a moment, I suppose, would be all day waiting.



And we kept our existential nothingness, with our "everything sucks" with our discussions on the Subcomandante Marcos or the authenticity or otherwise of all that was Manu Chao. All this before returning to our homes with heating and hot water, with dinner and full bar with clean and comfortable bed and well enough to remain grunge.
Currently, there is little of that grunge that filled our lives in the turbulent (nothing to do with what came after) early 90's. Surely the strangest decade there have been few. Now on the street fashion is dictated by four bloggers hair in the wind and winners of all four players. Now street fashion chains are buying low cost. Now everything is more civilized. Where to stop!



Now what are the real grunge bringing the Romanian who sell flowers or rings Chinese vendors that cause seizures. While people no longer want to pretend to be poor. People either want to appear more rich than it is. Many of the inhabitants of El Zielo are down (we declined) a hell of a permanent contract and tie daily. Some have fallen into the clutches of a dark god and call their children Nachete, Gonzalete or Tristana. Marc Jacobs
now makes mess for Vuitton and Courtney Love photos with Karl. And that lucky. The usual
remain where they were. On the street. Lighters or selling flowers or begging.
Everything in its place. All quiet.

With the light out it's less Dangerous

Here We Are now entertain us I feel stupid

and contagious Here We Are
now entertain us ...

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The real grunge Back to black Prada

Believe it or not, We are living in 2010. When I was little and thought in 2000 I imagined beaming it into college, picnicking colored pills provide all the energy I needed to live, sticking out my skate polish ultra light platinum silver with clothing. Since then, the future is never as expected.
Anyway, here I am, finishing the first decade of the new millennium and nothing that has come true. On the contrary, I have to take a conveyance dirty and clean every day, counting calories and crushing food always in the gym.
As if this were not enough, the surrounding reality persists, with stubbornness child in looking back constantly (I would say that ...). And is that enough to take a look around to realize that much remains for the future ideal of Huxley.



In the 60's, people of vision as Rabanne and Courreges dreamed of a future of plastic, straight lines and metal. Geniuses who have gone into fashion history. Visionaries.
Currently, as most of the collections are very very "revisited" (with some personality in the best cases) the rags that they put our grandmothers. From Prada to Louis Vuitton Amancio through the Empire, things are clear. Mad Men, Grease, soul, Motown and top of a lifetime.
This is not exclusive fashion. In music we have the same scenario. It began with the great Amy made us believe that listening to soul on the iPod was the most of everything modernez and the toupee, the roll pin up crappy neighborhood and was something new bandanas. Very 2000's. Next to it, although at a somewhat more trendy indie but we have much more to The Drum or The Meters. A recent news story announced that John Lurie, The Lounge Lizards leader and true king of cool, go hiding in Europe after leaving the California house of one of the Red Hot Chilly Peppers Where were ambushed fleeing a stalker who does not even let to sun or shade. And nobody has said to be a music star is easy.



The roll revival, retro, is more fashionable than ever. Now everything is retro, or what is worse, vintage. In most cases the same dog with different collar. My friend B told me the other day for the first time in his life he felt old. Why?. Perhaps a few kilos teenager and abundant hair had tried to "you" (damn courtesy rule depending on who and how you say you can make the dust the day)?. Perhaps he felt the first knee pain when rising from his chair in the office? . Or was it perhaps a wrinkle that was not yesterday there?. No. It was much easier than that. He realized that many things are in store for this winter had brought her and remembers her mother or taking them (blatant case of Zara skirts secretary). The sign of the times. The vagaries of fashion.



is true that nothing is as it was. It is true that the new look as such will never be seen on the streets but the aftertaste is seen, and known ... Since Galliano left to invent amazing collections to plagiarize without shame everything he did Monsieur Dior, what can we expect?.
How is it possible that people yearns for a Mini or a Beetle in version 2000 (that is, overdesigned, and without any of the charm that made the originals legendary)?.
is the natural reaction to the times of crisis?. Not long ago, a former economic adviser to Mitterrand's recent governments that Europe is headed to a super deep crisis that will make us root rethink who we are and where we go. Doomsayers aside, it seems clear that the advanced societies (the others pretty much have to survive) we look back at happier times, supposedly, in times of crisis like the present. That may be the success of a golden age in which families were perfect, ladies drink Martini at midnight between the rustle of their Cancano and the clink of her bracelets of diamonds. Men wore hair gel (and kept their hair) and the emergence of household appliances heralded a future of unparalleled comfort and convenience. A happiness by electronics.



And in the background, some reason they have. There is only a glimpse of the fabulous collection and campaign even more fabulous Marc Jacobs for Louis Vuitton to realize that anyone would want to live there permanently. Natalia Vodianova, Karen Elson and Christy Turlington beautiful and carefree apparent in a ladies room. Their husbands expect fuera tomando Dry Martini mientras suena jazz en un restaurante envuelto en humo de cigarrillos rubios. Todavía no habían llegado las prohibiciones ni existía eso tan inquientante que se llama Autoridades Sanitarias (el Santo Oficio del siglo XXI para los fumadores). Una delicia.
Mientras tanto, en una galaxia no muy lejana, los chicos y las chicas del Euskadi Ta Fashion nos proponen una vuelta al verdadero vintage: el reino de Navarra y el polar, esta vez con una propuesta de pañuelo de raso para la cara de lo más in que hace que destaque mucho más la chapela. Eso sí que es vintage y lo demás cuento.
Lo dicho. Los mismos perros con distinto collar.

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Prada Spring / Summer 2011

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The unequivocal sign that the summer comes to an end is neither return operation or post-holiday syndrome, or an angry faces widespread, or even running after the taxi Pancho Julia. The true sign that it's over what was fun about summer is the arrival at the kiosks and our lives in the fascicles. One more year, to September, appearing like mushrooms collectibles of all kinds: from pilates, interior design, language courses, dollhouses or claims yourself up to imitate the song of birds or a crash course to sex chickens. I miss some more bizarre as ladybugs cutouts for pedophile priests or collections of pocket breathalyzers for alcohol anonymous.



live in the era of the masses. Everything is within reach of everyone. Since there is hardly anything exclusive. Ibiza is not even what it once was, now a branch of any bottle winter summer. No matter. What is important is the size of your sunglasses.
do not think the big Chanel was aware of I was rolling when he began to fashion the closer to a beach the warmer months. Previously, Brown was himself to be the working classes. When you spend all day in the open ended with a color that would later become the ultimate all along the coast.
Now what is really cool to leave your home and still behaving with the same impunity that if you had not left. Personally, I sweat it you do in your living room but requires (as is) a little please if you're on a beach, which is reduced to four basic things, namely cleanliness, discretion, good education and sense of the ridiculous.



As this year we have not gone anywhere on vacation and not plan to be gone all summer at home (I do not escape to the ground), we returned to that place where I spent all my summers growing up. A small part of the world that he thought immutable, the people of God's life, to realize that even this is beyond the mass of a thousand arms and thousand heads that everything takes and transforms everything. Nothing to say. The people of my childhood still lives in me, that now is something else, neither better nor worse. Different.
thing is that I can not help thinking (the old stuff, I guess) when things were otherwise. The beach was wonderful "our" beach. People know her if only out of sight. It was the people of all ages. Of every summer. Know who was who (in a micro society in which it was essential to know) depending on which part of the beach and planted their actual towel. At night you saw at the same parties and in the same bars and the interaction was full of codes that you should know how to manage to survive and "be somebody" in this complicated world of summer.



Then you grow and let go. You work and you have to live another summer pasta. People see it and let time takes its course. And suddenly, without knowing how or why, either a summer 2010, thousands of years after those mystified and eternal summer, come back to match. Of course, there are people you see most often and with whom you have not lost all contact. And you discover that your problems are not what they were. Now the emotional crisis are really fat and come with commitments and responsibilities. Now close your horizon is not to pass these subjects were you in September and has barely played all summer. It is now once again, something else. And, as I say, suddenly one night happens and you find yourself dining on a terrace and looking around the table the faces you back memories, smells, moments of other summers. The power of summer.



And if you look in the eyes of the heart and not with the face that are misleading and very tricky (as everyone knows), you discover that they are not, we are not the same. And yet, there is something that unites us. You have ended up there by chance. Your plans will surely be others. Life, the economy or last minute plans I ended up being the same sea every summer. It does not matter. Does not really matter. Drink beer and laugh at all while the sun sets on the leather and the sea. And it happens again. The magic of summer.
If you like the song says " one always comes back to the old sites loved life, there can be no better place to be.
has been a good summer. Now comes the season of issues. We'll always have that small part of the world.

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I spend my life reward for all, which does not know if it's good or bad and, frankly, I do not care. After a week's eternal work out, more work and leave on Saturday afternoon while G and DKNL raided shops to keep busting their closets, I focused my head to my weekly visit to that temple of consumerism and immediate happiness called FNAC.
was looking to buy Broken Embraces to have it and for review and passage to convince these two that is a great movie with a bad script (Something that is filled with the history of cinema). The fact is that I did not have it or not I saw (most likely) and when I would head to the area of \u200b\u200bcoffee table books, a quick and ready as neuron alone turned my head to my right shelf (see "Documentary") and there it was: The September Issue. My heart is bolted, my head spinning a mile a minute and did not quite understand why a few months ago the clerk assured me that they DO NOT HAVE OR IBAN for import did not work and now film was there, within my rapidly fatal hand had been done with one of the only two remaining copies ...



With the tape under his arm, I leave the FNAC (first payment, of course) and I can not be happier.
Saturday passes quickly and be remembered as one of the funniest in recent memory. Passing of work exhausts me and I limited my boss is the worst wanabees and a tacky heart, fellow climb, that within hours will be Monday ... none of that matters. It's Saturday night and I have The September Issue at home waiting.



Nights happy, sad morning. Knows that even the dumbest of the class. With less hangover than expected, G is preparing a pasta with ham estupendísima and after lunch, the three, religiously, we went to the viewing.
The September Issue is probably the best story on the fashion world has been made to date. Goes beyond the personality of Wintour. Pecise chronicles the rags business.
priceless moments: Stefano Pilatti the verge of a nervous breakdown showing his collection in private screening at Diablo (yes, go to Prada).
Anna Wintour's face when Grace Coddington talks about money before the film crew.
Speaking of Anna herself at the funeral of Isabella Blow.
Fun with André Leon Talley.
The absurdity of Lagerfeld (bordering on the unbearable).
Rachel Zimmerman eating a strawberry cake after a grueling session with a Chanel couture.
Anna Wintour's relationship with their children. Rigor
The question before all the shows: "Anna has arrived?".
Anna herself busy in looking for a designer to collaborate with Mango or telling Oscar de la Renta so make the parade and what not.
The very great Grace Coddington: I ended up literally in love with this woman. In total genius, his vision of fashion (and romantic too), his style, his life, his way of speaking, how he smiles ... of it all. I propose to RJ Cutler (the director), a documentary about her enterito. Really big.



Otherwise, all that I hoped would be fulfilled. Anna Wintour is relentless, their faces say it all, is extremely shy and distant, making all their assistants are the way to the brink of suicide all day. Disheveled and covering his face all the time do not stop saying "you have to tell Anna ...", without making clear who the fuck is going to have to tell arrests whatever. A picture. And I thought working under constant pressure ... clear that an arm would take the place of any such editors of Vogue USA though I paid to see Miolastan Tranquimazin or for life. He who wants something, something hard.
A curious thing: suddenly, and I DKNL we realize that we are back to talking about fashion. Seriously, with crazy theories with pointless discussions with love and passion for what we like in life. G, which is like a USB memory, reminds us it's because for months (many) who only talk about work.
Peter Pan has grown up. There seems no alternative. But it's nice to talk again just what you like and not what keeps you. We make plans to catch
bugger off and plant them in Paris at the shows without tickets in kamikaze plan. I like the plan but has little chance of success. No matter. The important thing is to want and have it pending. And that goes
The September Issue. Of people on all, loves what he does. People distant, cold, frivolona, \u200b\u200bcreative, vain, absurd and brilliant. People who love their work, but especially people who love fashion.

" There is something in fashion that makes people nervous "
(Anna Wintour)