Monthly Archives: March 2012

Body Modification

Rick, the Zombie boy

Rick, the Zombie boy (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It’s a slippery slope alright, this whole body modification thing. You start off with one piercing, maybe even go as far as a tattoo, but before you know it bam – you’ve turned yourself into a cat clone or a walking zombie. I’m not condemning these people who feel being human just isn’t enough anymore – but I wouldn’t want to hold a conversation with one.

It’s an art form, its self-expression, its visionary – it’s creepy. Who in their right mind would want to look like a giant cat? Well there’s a few out there. One man has a leopard print tattoo all over his body. He is named Tom Leppard and appropriately adopts his persona by living in an isolated cabin off Scotland and travelling ashore by canoe once a week to collect his pension – oh did I mention he’s 73?

Now as far as cat people go, the least I can say is that I find it unnerving. I don’t like body modification, I don’t get it and I don’t ever want to get it. But there is one guy who throws me off a little; because I think what he has done is kinda cool, albeit crazy. You may have seen him in one of Lady’s Gaga music videos, ‘Born This Way’? Does Rick Genest ring a bell?

Now this guy is known as ‘Zombie Boy’, but he is by far the coolest and best looking zombie I’ve ever seen. Props must go to Miss Gaga for unearthing this modern walking sensation. I can’t say that he’s changed my mind on the entire issue, and he’s probably going to look like a wrinkly skeleton when he’s sixty. But right now he’s young, handsome (you know, in that rugged zombie way) and has caught my attention. While it lasts.

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Audrey Hepburn, Style Icon

Black Givenchy dress of Audrey Hepburn

Image via Wikipedia

Audrey Hepburn, the woman who created the little black dress. Simple, elegant, beautiful and charming. Her style is one that has been revered throughout the ages, her outfits and poise material for inspiration. Who doesn’t recall that classic black dress, hairdo and pearls in front of Tiffany’s window? It has reached icon status and is right up there with Marilyn’s white dress and Channel’s suit. Granted Marilyn may have been sexy and Channel a fashion powerhouse, but no one has class or style like Audrey.

She is no doubt the only woman in the world eligible to play both a nun and a call girl with effortless beauty and grace. Albeit Julia Roberts was lovable in Pretty Woman, her leather boots couldn’t hold a candle to Givenchy’s dress on Miss Golightly.

What has spawned Audrey into the good graces of fashion was her love of designer Hubert de Givenchy. And he loved her right back, catering to her whim and desires and designing almost every outfit in every role she played.  The two became inseparable, and with Audrey’s charm and Givenchy’s grace they set the trend that rocked through the 50’s, through Vogue covers, the runway and the movies.

When she’s remembered for her fashion style, it’s mostly in those of the films she starred. The dress and pearls in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, the towering  hat and parasols in My Fair Lady, her Capri pants in Sabrina and running around Rome in a pair of pumps in Roman Holiday. But whilst the camera stopped rolling, Audrey’s eye for style continued.

Her tight hairdo’s, fitted pants, slim silhouette and basic colours. She refrained from bold colours, preferring instead staples of black, grey and brown which equalled Instant 50’s glamour. She brought Italian demure to Hollywood, with ballet pumps and clinched waistlines we could only hope to get around our ankles. She brought Parisian sophistication to New York, with turtle necks and trench coats. And she brought Hollywood glamour to the world, with satin dresses and long gloves that never looked tacky.

Audrey in her time was never rivalled, and still no one has managed to step up to the plate and remain standing.  She is the poster girl for sophisticated glamour. She was always modest, never self-important or arrogant, and grateful for her good fortune and fame. Even to her lasting legacy and in the face of icon status, she remains refined and effortless – “I never think of myself as an icon. What is in other people’s minds is not in my mind. I just do my thing.” And we will always love her for just doing her thing.

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Feed Yourself Pretty

Español: Glass of water. Español: Copa con agua.

Image via Wikipedia

We all ignore it. The fact that vitamins, water, spice and everything nice actually do great things for our appearance. Instead, being the lazy make up reliant generation that we are (myself included), we say ‘meh’ to the healthy goodness of food and instead pull out the ever reliable concealer. So instead of thinking fruit is your enemy and water its evil twin, why don’t you give mother natures intended make up a go and give your cosmetic bag that well deserved rest.

Drop that bottle of coke immediately and I don’t even care if its diet.  How many times did your grandmother say you can’t drink better than water? And don’t you always see the pretty skinny girls carrying around huge bottles of water and think what the hell is in that bottle? Well I’ll tell you – there’s radiant skin, brighter eyes and shinier hair.

For your skin and hangover cure there’s nothing more rejuvenating than water. Its trick is that it hydrates skin cells and improves their elasticity, making them look less haggard and you less demonic after a wild night out. For your eyes, the simple method of dabbing them with water will leave the under eye area and tough bags brighter and cooled. And for shiny hair, the secret is to grit your teeth and stifle a scream, because giving hair a last-minute blast of cold water after washing will increase its shine tenfold.

And don’t forget your vitamins deary, another classic line from grandma but one that’s right yet again. The papaya fruit, exotic enough your grandma wouldn’t know whether to kill it or eat it, is stocked in vitamin A. The exact vitamin that is an antioxidant, removes dead skin cells, exfoliates and firms – something that will come in very handy when you’re nearing good ole grandma’s age.

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Saturday night’s alright for fighting…..well not anymore lads

English: a typical scene of Street Fight

Image via Wikipedia

It’s a shame how we idolise and fawn over the wrong people in our society – the actors, the models, the singers and the politicians (well they do contribute a little I suppose). We glorify these people all because they can act or sing, and as ignorant consumers we ignore those who do real work for our sake alone. The people who are the corner-stone of civilisation and we couldn’t even begin to understand how vital their role is – people such as bouncers. This one is for them: the underappreciated, unnoticed and often ignored guardians of nightlife. We have a love-hate relationship with them, we have our connections amongst them and we might even flirt with them if our chances of entry are looking bad – but we never considered how unsafe we would be without them.

Let me paint you a picture of Saturday night in Limerick city, when the pubs close their doors and the nightclubs spew out bare footed, drunken messes. A night when the brave boldly go down Cruises Street for fast food and the meek flee into the first taxi that pulls up. The city’s bouncers, our protectors of sort, can always be seen on the outskirts guiding the drunk, blocking the abusive and chatting up the slutty. They’re our shinning knights in padded black coats. Without these intimidating burly men standing guard every night, half of Limerick would be a bloodied mess on their way home.

If your one of the meeker ones, then I’m sure in your past night outs the bouncers have been your best friends. These men are the ones that stand in the cold all night ready to confront any trouble that comes their way. They’re the ones that stop that girl from throwing a kebab in your face because you looked at her sideways. They’re the ones that insert that glorious protective barrier of a hand in between you and the skinhead that’s about to kill you. They’re the ones that tell the tangoed, scantily clad girls to lean off the counter to save us all a nasty sight. And most importantly, they’re the ones that give you a light for your cigarette to calm you down, before you kick the head off your boyfriend.

Bouncers aren’t exclusive to just nightclubs anymore. They’re stationed everywhere and it’s no longer just the entry of our beloved Trinity Rooms (RIP). They’re at the front doors of fast food chains, ready to drag the penniless out by their ankles (which I’ve actually seen happen) and slap them away when they lick the window (I couldn’t make sense of it either). The assurance of protection that comes with a bouncer’s proximity is now extended from the nightclub to the take out and in between. A fact I relish when trying to scoot past the street brawls outside HMV. They don’t only add a sense of protection when you now leave the club and go for something to eat; they also add a higher standard. You are required to have shoes on when entering such high calibre places like McDonald’s and Burger King. Which means the days of looking at cut, bare feet when you’re trying to order food are gone – thank you bouncers.

They’re there to help us when we need them, and there to stop us when we don’t. We’ve all been on the receiving end of the bouncers’ authority. The “not tonight”, the “you’re too drunk” and the “well I just saw you trying to seek in so now you’ve no chance of getting in”. We’ve all tried the pleading and begging routine of “it’s my birthday,” “sure I’ve only had one” and the “I’m from America here on holiday” line. If you’ve never been refused by a bouncer, you don’t get out enough. I’m sure you’ve abused them to no end when you couldn’t get your way. Thinking about it now, don’t you feel guilty for shouting insults at this hard earning family man just trying to do his job and get home to a warm bed? I was.

Give the bouncers of our city a break next time you think of throwing out an insult. Sure, some may seem too keen on the girls that pass, but they’re only men. And some may seem stern, but you know in your deepest of hearts that the third shoulder of whiskey really was too much and you should go home. Listen to them, give them a break and don’t take them for granted. It would be an entirely different city at night without them – for danger is just a kebabs throw away.

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