Dung called me from Art Basel in Miami the other day:
- Hey, Unknown, the book is sold out in the US.
I was rather surprised because my first collection of poems, Found Love letters and Unread Poems from the Trash Room, self-published 35 years ago, is still available
(Interested? Free bicycle delivery in the greater Brooklyn area).
- So, what is August Editions going to do? How about selling my old collected poems instead?
- The poems are interesting, but… uh, maybe another time. Actually, a new edition of a 1000 copies of The Unknown Hipster Diaries is already in the works, it will be available around March next year. And it will have a new picture of you on the cover.
- What about an abstract image? Or a photo of some weed growing freely out of a Bushwick sidewalk?
- Uh… How was the exhibition opening of your illustrations at Colette?
- It was cool, and…yes, Balthus, was there.
- Yes, he is very cute.
- Balthus, like the painter?
- Balthus Billy Zahm, Olivier and Natacha’s baby, don’t you check the Purple Diary everyday? I think it was Balthus first opening, Natacha said so.
- You must be very honored!
- Woody came early, though, needed some sleep.
- Yes, Sarah and Philippe’s baby. He is very cute too. And very well-dressed. Cool socks. What is that loud music behind you? Are you at a party?
- I’m in Kanye West’s car. Baldessari’s driving. In fact, we are going to André’s pop-up Le Baron for Larry Gagosian, Glenn’s D.J.ing, he says hi.
- Could I request a tune?
- What about your book signing at Colette, on Saturday?
- I just bought a stock of blue spray cans.
- You mean, you’re going to graffiti the books?
- Why not? …Well, right, with all the babies, maybe I will borrow their color pencils.
The Unknown Hipster Diaries booksigning at Colette, Saturday 15th December, from 4pm to 6pm.
The Unknown Hipster Diaries exhibition at Colette, 10th December 2102 to 10 January 2013
The Unknown Hipster Diaries, 2nd Edition, will be available March 1st, 2013, from Amazon and selected bookstores in the U.S.
I think that, if you are a poet, you don’t want to think too much about your wardrobe, but you want to wear clothes that are fine to work in.
The other day at the GQ party hosted by Glenn for The Style Guy Special Edition, I had this conversation with two sartorial experts: Alexander Olch, all dressed in Maison Kitsune with a tie of his own design, and Todd Eberle, with his classic torn denim jacket and one of his inimitable destroyed hats.
- If you are a photographer, Todd explained, you don’t want to intimidate people by wearing something extravagant.
I have sometimes been asked how I dress and what my favorite brands are, but in fact, I usually don’t know what to say.
A bit of flea here, thrift shop there.
Maybe I went to a party and accidentally left with someone else’s jacket? Or I visited a Japanese temple and switched shoes upon exit?
Jeans, plaid shirt, jacket, desert boots, tote bag. I’d rather be asked what I read.
But Sarah at Colette found it amusing to recreate the looks.
I guess it was not too complicated for her. Every week, she selects ensembles for the women’s floor that make you feel like you’re walking through Picassos and Lichtensteins. I never stay too long because I feel I might fall in love with a speechless mannequin, just because of the intricate patterns and inspired fabric colors it’s dressed in.
And now, thanks to Colette, you can really dress like a page out of the Diaries : From Book to Fashion
An exhibition of originals drawings from The Unknown Hipster Diaries and large prints in limited edition of 10, opens Monday 10th December at Colette, and I’ll be signing books on Saturday 15th December from 16:00 to 18:00.
It’s one thing to be possessed by clothes, it’s another to own them.
This is why Colette, during this last July Men Shows in Paris, held an ironing class, exclusively for men, in its basement Water bar.
It is no irony to think that this would prevent some Fashion-obsessed among us running their shirts to the nearest cleaner (if not their mum) likely to return a Junya Watanabe in the state of a stretch of toilet paper.
A customer puzzled by the scene
A dozen ironing tables had been installed like in a classroom, all equiped with Rowenta steam power stations which were as intimidating as a Hummer for those who have never driven before.
Jocelyne proudly wearing her medal of « Meilleure Ouvrière de France »
Jocelyne, a professor at the École de Gouvernantes et Majordomes, started by teaching us the meaning of washing instructions icons. For some, it was already too late, their shirt had probably shrunk 3 sizes. A student raised his arm in alarm that a symbol inside his shirt was not mentioned in Jocelyn’s exhaustive list.
« Is it Japanese ? … » she asked, raising her eyebrows. The dude confirmed : it was a Tsumori Chisato. « Well, if it’s Japanese… », and she shrugged, with a smile.
A participant discovers the complexity of ironing.
Several unexperienced scenesters, in fear of being unsubscribed from the newsletter by bringing the wrong shirt had brought their best attire, all fresh from the washing machine, crumbled like a handkerchief long forgotten in a back pocket.
For my part, I had brought one of my signature worn out flea market plaid shirts. Some of the dudes glanced over at it with envy, thinking it was an advance sample from Maison Kitsuné’s «Brokeback Mountain » new collection.
In fact, I had just got it back from the cleaner, and had to pull it into a ball and sit on it during my Metro ride over, so it would be wrinkled enough to be ironed.
Jocelyne looked over my shoulder while I was passing over a part of the collar that had stayed flat from the cleaner, and congratulated me.
Writer and blogger Borey meticulously working his shirt
When we finally came to the folding lesson, how keeping our folds symetrical that one shoulder is not twice as wide as the other, there were very little time left for the pants.
This saved me from the dilemma of having to ridiculously iron my jeans, or confess Jocelyn I never wear any other sort of pants.
In fact, it took so much time to perfect the shirt, that none was left for ironing the torn jeans I had brought in a plastic bag.