Section: Lethal Style

Vanity Kills shows off Lip Service Fall 2011 Step In Time and Burning Circus styles in Alt Fashion Magazine.

 

Producer/Model/Stylist:Vanity Kills

Photography: Maura Housley

Story by: Dan Barrett

As the calendar date shifts towards the 24th of November, people across the United States are make their pilgrimages back home to reunite with their families in order to celebrate the great turkey holiday. Their thought dials are set to tune in only to feelings of intimacy, festivity, and gluttony; and they no doubt eagerly await the anticipated merriment promised with the holidays. They are completely unaware that a mutant strain of influenza type A virus subtype H3N2 has re-emerged a hemisphere away in the Australian coastal city Brisbane, similar to the incident in 2008. Unfortunately, a cargo ship loaded illegally with infected turkeys was launched for the USA three weeks prior to the holiday…

The freight ship docks in southern California on November 8th. The workers unload the turkeys as planned and transfer them rapidly to slaughter houses. The day following the allocation, the dockhands experience headaches and sore throats. The abnormally cold weather is blamed. The turkeys are redistributed into packaged goods and sent to stores and markets a few days later. Some farmhands begin to notice dark spots on their body, but no apparent pain or discomfort. Business continues as usual. The turkeys make their way to myriad sectors of the country, and on their journey the meat comes into contact with uncountable additional shipments of good. The first full blown cases of the H3N2 outbreak happen in rural, sparsely populated areas and go generally unnoticed by the populous. Several families in North Dakota are admitting to the hospital coughing up blood and bile, typically with black spots littering their skin. A man in Wyoming with similar black spots is brought to a clinic with bleeding from the eyes, mouth and anus. By the time thanksgiving arrives, it is too late to contain the tempest of disease. Families across the country lay out their meal platters and begin to feel their flesh crawl with plague. Mothers begin to rend and tear at their skin to alleviate the hellish itch. Children cough and spew blood all over the table, filling rooms with the heinous contagion. The plague’s advanced form rapidly shows the signs of a viral hemorrhagic fever and leprosy. A child’s skin hardens and he peels away at the scabs; a man drinking wine collapses into his mashed potatoes as his lungs fail. Twins are driven into a berserk state and attempt to use a carving knife to remove the other’s face. A woman feels her entrails slide out of her body in a slimy stew of bile and acrid stench. There is no escaping the pandemic, it is carried by the birds and they are flying overhead now…

Happy Thanksgiving!

BIRDEMIC

She’s draped in lace and bones and something else you can’t put your finger on. Is it the distinct scent of death? This highly fatalistic look, styled to remind us of our own mortality in these uncertain times, borrows liberally from authentic plague doctor beak-shaped protective masks while adding some fresh ingredients to the mix such as feathered posture collars. The latter serves as a tongue-in-cheek tribute to our avian friends, which might or might not eventually be responsible for our extinction. Meanwhile pink ruffles trimming the Nocturnal Rendezvous Shrug which faithfully mirror the distinct fanlike folds of intestines provide a literal take on organic fashion. Go on. Catch the twenty-first century plague with Vanity Kills.

• Historically, plague physicians were suited in head-to-toe waxed leather cloak or gown-like garments designed to protect the wearer from exposure to life-threatening germs. Completely enshrouding the body was standard practice, and in the spirit of concealment I’ve taken great care to ensure that no bare skin was left exposed by attiring myself in a posture collar (to cover my neck), black gloves (to keep my hands from coming into contact with who knows what) and a floor length skirt. Since the amorphous, tent-like silhouettes of genuine plague doctor wear are not what I consider to be very conducive to femininity, I focused on adapting other attributes of the aforementioned medieval ensembles – namely the waxen texture of the over-garments. And so I fended off contamination (while bringing it to YOU) by choosing shiny, black pieces such as the Nocturnal Rendezvous Ruffle Shrug #38-116 and an equally slick underbust corset.
• Behold the blood glistening against a medley of caged guts and snow white feathers. You don’t personify a disease without toting around an accessory that boldly proclaims “Hi there, I’m not sidestepping subtlety; I’m running it over with a bus”.
• I opted out of the traditional wide-brimmed hat in favor of “bird’s nest”-like hair, complete with a small raven surveying the terrain from amidst the chaos on my head. The partially disguised presence of an ebony plumed pestilence carrier provided the finishing touch this “pretty in plague” outfit needed.
• Dem Bones cami top #56-296 and a floral lace button down blouse boost those style antibodies.
• I have a confession to make. I wasn’t always a fan of those “super creepy plague doctor bird masks”, as previously noted in Plague Widow. Something about that long-snout, just didn’t sit right with me. Inexplicably, that same eerie sensibility that initially turned me off drew me right back in, because it’s hard to resist adornments fashioned with a poxy lady in mind.

In conclusion, let us give thanks for making it another year without being wiped out by a global pandemic.

Obligatory Disclaimer: No live poultry was “fowled”, harmed or otherwise made uncomfortable for the sake of capturing these images. Not unless you count a tacky feather boa sacrificed to the photo Gods. The swine guts were purchased at a supermarket and if I didn’t use utilize them for artsy purposes, in all likelihood they would’ve wound up as someone’s dinner. I have no qualms about “bimboing around with pig parts” (Thank you Bud Bundy for that great quote), but I’ll never go as far as retrieving them from a live pig. Even if it’s a member of the Kardashian family.

Be sure to check out 2010’s take on Thanksgiving terror here.

Credits

Photographer: Stevie Oh! Photography

Model: Vanity Kills

Location: Letchworth Village, NY

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Vanity Kills

Dr. Ray D. Ayshun & Eyeleen

Story by: Dan Barrett

 

That he was once a doctor of a stature which could be considered noble is arguable. If you were somehow fortunate enough to find a past colleague, they surely would deny the knowledge of acquaintanceship now. For the (perhaps we can say) ‘good’ doctor shall only be known for his madness and perseverance in the arcane. He was testing something in the evenings, when he was alone beyond the watchful eye of peers, and the thing backfired on him. Some kind of radiation attached itself to his skin and melted it from the inside out. Unfortunately the dear doctor was not lucky enough to expire during the ordeal, but instead was forced to watch himself become rather mutated and corrupted by the amorphous foulness seeping onto his flesh. After the incident he came unhinged, or perhaps simply exhibited the full breadth of an inherent lunacy. Loathing himself, he retreated to a crumbling estate on the edge of the world where he feverishly stalks the countryside.

 

 

Eyeleen

 

So disgusted was she by the foulness that had overtaken her brother, she could no longer bear to look at his abhorrent, charred countenance. But the vision was of so hideous a degree it had become absolutely etched into the very retina which bore her sight; the only lasting solution was to destroy them completely. The act achieved, covered in molten blood and filth, she fell deep into an abyss of pain and torment. The grotesque objects of disdain had been removed, but the grave reward was to be trapped in a boundless void of formless horror. She clutches at the detested eyeballs, trying to find a way to rend them from this plane and erase all the horrors they have seen.

 

Matthew 5:29 If your right eye causes you to sin, gouge it out and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to be thrown into hell.

 

 

Inspiration List: Twisted Porcelain Dolls by Jessica Harrison, St. Lucy (Christian martyrdom makes Hostel look like The Little Mermaid), Bill’s desire to shoot with Michael since “he’d make an awesome psycho”, the “Lyme Disease House of Walpack” and nonmedical use of antique wheelchairs.

 

The REAL Tortured Souls of New Jersey.

 

… The house is free, but the ghosts are extra.

 

The mood is that of antique-tinged insanity as fashion and violence march hand-in-hand by the way of bandages steeped in crimson fluid, colorways cast in bloody tones and truly eye-popping accessories.

 

 

• Much like a supremely elegant funeral, the #49-237 Blacklist Ruffle Dress Shirt and the #38-532 Duchess de Sade II Danse Macabre Victorian Mourning Skirt, both seen here in the blood colorway, bestow somber overtones upon the wearer, creating tension and discomfort while remaining well within the parameters of propriety.
• Disembodied eyeballs and soiled gauze up the ante on creepy.
• A heart cameo corset bridges the gap between structured and insane.

 

 

• Playing doctor is no fun in a coat that isn’t generously punctuated by sanguine splatter.
• In this “rivet rendition of Phantom of the Opera”, the most instantly recognizable standby of industrial culture sits perched upon the putrefied physician’s shoulders. Faithfully shielding his disfigured features from prying eyes (though they sure as hell won’t be his sister’s). And yes, ladies he IS single.
• Dr. Ray D. Ayshun’s makeup was applied using the technique previously seen in Blood Harvest and Springtime Sacrifice.

 

Note: Christian martyrs make some of the goriest Halloween costumes. Just sayin’.

 

Special thanks to: LA Mike (seen here in the role of Dr. Ray D. Ayshun) for laying on the most disgusting mattress known to man and falling through a couch.

 

Credits

Photographer: Bill Tracy Photography

Models

Dr. Ray D.Ayshun: LA Mike

Eyeleen:Vanity Kills

Location:Walpack, NJ

<3

Vanity Kills

Helianthus

Story by:Dan Barrett

Long ago, when the night hours were lit by naught but the subdued, mournful glowing of the moon, there was a noble inventor who lived on the outskirts of a long since forgotten seaport. He grew many rare and unpredictable crops on his fields, gaining him recognition throughout the land. Yet, he lamented that the growth of these wonders was constrained by the absence of the warm hand of the sun during the dark hours. He realized that if he could harness the power of the sunlight — to save and deploy it at will, he could have the finest crops anywhere the world over. And so he set about to do just that.

 

After years of toil, he was able to successfully crossbreed several genera of exotic flower to achieve the aesthetic design: tall and thin to reach above the canopy of foliage and grasp the sun’s rays. However, all his fantastic designs ultimately did him little good, as they could do little to accumulate the energies of the solar sphere. It was not until he bought the black oil from a shady, hooded figure in the obscurest of alleys near the seaport that his plan was able to achieve fruition. With the addition of this mysterious, viscous substance, the flowers became imbued with a hideous power. Their shadowy, porous countenance could now act as a beacon to suck up the sun’s rays, trapping them within the surrounding leaves. As this process transpired, the leaves attached to the circular center would come to glow the same yellow as the sun itself. The flowers could work as batteries: constantly pumping energy into the soil to vastly excite the growth of the harvest.

 

The abundance of crops resulted in much increased business for the inventor; unfortunately, one unforeseen side effect of his creations was the sowing of jealously into the minds his contemporaries. He had a secret growth formula and, unsurprisingly, they all wanted it. Rumors were spread that the man was a witch, dabbling in pacts with the devil in exchange for such bountiful crops. Of course, this antagonized the ignorant masses amongst the townspeople and not long after, a vehement mob coalesced from the filthy streets and descended upon the farmer’s cottage. Before he could speak, the unquenchable fury of the crowd overcame him. As a cruel joke, they buried him beneath his own fields. Following his demise, the townsfolk ransacked the house, looking for any evidence of what magic he was using. They found none, but rather than depart empty handed they decided to uproot the beautiful, colossal, golden flowers which grew nowhere else. They would never understand the secrets that these contraptions harbored in silence, and as such, the sunflowers became integrated into the community as mere decorative items. Over time and extensive trading, they traveled to the corners of the globe. Though much weakened from the early archetypes, you can still see the sunflower carrying out its intended function as its face follows the sun as it moves across the sky.

 

Inspiration List: Deemphasizing the “pirate” in Brocade Piracy,flower crowns from Meadham Kirchhoff’s Spring 2011 Ready to Wear show, black oil sunflowers, waving good-fucking-bye to 100° of heat and humidity, fall foliage, Sylvia Ji’s “Dia De Los Muertos” Catrina girls, chrysanthemum, fiery near-blinding orange lipstick, fields of perfectly purple roadside wildflowers, finally utilizing my tiny striped gloves in a photoshoot, cardiac inspired corsetry and the decidedly autumnal Sleepy Hollow vibes I instantly feel upon donning my striped skirt.

 

Bidding summer 2011 adieu epitomizes the phrase “mixed blessing”. On one hand, it’s easy to give in to fleeting moments of doubt that prod your brain with pesky questions such as “Did I accomplish everything I set to do back in May? Did I check enough seasonal outdoor fun off my to-do list?” Cue the mini-existential crisis, complete with stinging pangs of guilt, brought upon the sudden realization that you’ve managed to fall prey to the Sloth Monster by wasting large chunks of the year’s sunniest months parked in front of the AC unit, Frapp in one hand, Iphone in the other yet again. Suddenly, you’re wishing for a summer do over with more roller coasters, pool-side adventures in frozen cocktail tasting, and more quality time with those cute skull-print wedges. And just maybe less natural disasters. Take comfort in knowing that the dawning of autumn signals the end of near-certain heat death, bringing relief to our collective longing for cool-weather dressing at last, while simultaneously creating opportunity for a whole new crop of seasonal shenanigans: bonfires, apple pickings and hayrides await. I needn’t mention the pumpkin spice everything, candy corn, and constant onslaught of awesomely cheesy slashers invading your TV.

 

The newest sartorial incarnation of Vanity Kills enjoyed a definite equinox moment in a not-all-to-surprisingly compatible mix of cabernet colors, unmuted harvest-hued floral flourishes, and a never-too-early-for-Halloween vertically striped bustle skirt — heavily influenced by Tim Burton’s iconic carnival-esque aesthetic. Unceremoniously taking a remixed version of last year’s Plague Widow ensemble out of the solemn spires of man-made cathedrals to worship at nature’s altar. Savoring every second of those much awaited elusive crisp, sunshine-filled, humidity-free fall days before the chilling frost of a seemingly neverending, dull winter takes grip. This is autumnal goth.

 

• Donning a billow sleeve top such as the Brocade Piracy # 83-7-09 Off The Shoulder Blouse in the black/wine colorway doesn’t have to end in being mistaken for one of Jack Sparrow’s groupies if you solemnly swear to stay clear of cuffed over-the-knee leather boots, large tri-corn hats, skulls, headscarves, vests, dreads and anything with gold coin detailing. Pairing with aristo-goth inspired Victoriana is always a good way to disassociate yourself from buccaneer guild members. Think big bustle skirts and anything that would feel out of place on a pestilent vermin infested ship. As much as it pains me to say it, this ain’t the time to accessorize with a barrel of rum and a macaw.
• Chrysanthemum, flowers which often symbolize death as well as the arrival of autumn, attached to a weeping veil heighten the appearance of mourning for the passing of summer whilst simultaneously celebrating the year’s transition into fall. For more distinctly Dia De Los Muertos flavor, try a wreath of delightfully orange marigolds which bear strong ties to the holiday’s celebration.
• Closing out the summer with a romantic stroll amongst the wildflowers? Graphic black and white stripes stand out brilliantly against the efflorescent background of fields and meadows (unless those flowers sprouted directly from the monochromatic striation obsessed mind of Tim Burton).
• A waist cinching rendition of the “Tell-Tale Heart” stirs the anticipation of spooky festivities to come in a most Poe-tic way.
• A single black bloom carefully pinned to a ruffle, a bouquet of fresh-cut sunflowers, and delicately striped fingerless gloves imbue this ensemble with the lightest touch of dreamy femininity, softening the edges of the corset’s gory details.
• Punchy orange lipstick beckons with promises of tree ripe citrus fruit in August and jack-o-lanterns in October, making it the ultimate seasonless lipstick shade.

 

Credits

Photography: Bill Tracy Photography

Model: Vanity Kills

Location: Montague and Augusta, NJ

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Vanity Kills

Summer 2011′s Ultimate Lippy Wardrobe Essentials

Let it be known that The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) predicts a peak heat index of 116 this upcoming Friday in the DC metro area. As we seek respite from the Helter Swelter outside and try our best to avoid spontaneously bursting into flames during daylight hours, our cherished latex kimonos, Victorian mourning gowns and those deliciously ubergoth slinky floor-length bell sleeved lace numbers are forced into mandatory hibernation until further notice. It doesn’t take a meteorologist to determine that looking hot while staying cool can pose quite a challenge when daytime highs hit (and surpass) the 100° mark. Conventional fashion “wisdom” pushes crisp, white tees and all manner of apparel classified as “Bohemian”, “hippie-chic” and “surfer girl”. None of which exactly appeal to the self-identified Fashion Freak’s spooky sensibility. Luckily, Lippy is here to help you adapt your wardrobe to the smoldering temps with their latest crop of cute, carefree summer styles suitable for all your outdoor escapades (for those adventurous times when you actually dare to brave atmospheric conditions only slightly cooler than hell).

Check out last year’s guide to summer industrial/goth clubwear here

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A day spent thoroughly abusing your body at an amusement park is practically considered to be the season’s calling card. What would summer be without consuming embarrassingly vast quantities of overpriced beer and funnelcake, promptly followed by stomach-churning thrills of steel coasters — launching your screaming self 40 stories into the air at speeds approaching 130 miles per hour? For a hands-free way to tote all your essentials (keys, credit card, phone), strap on a Millennium Moon Unisex Utility Belt

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Bypass the steel boning and sub the real thing JUST THIS ONCE for Step in Time’s Cap Sleeve Corset Screen Top in the sand colorway for an easier, breezier albeit significantly more low key way to get your steampunk fix in mid-July.

 

 

This heavy, sticky time of year time considered by many goths to be the “unavoidable prelude to the autumnal months” doesn’t exactly lend itself well to the billowing voluminosity which characterizes so many skirts typically associated with the Victorian period. The Jardin Noir Ruffle Skirt in the black/ivory colorway meets you halfway, by marrying the effortless elegance of its charming French country print with a laid back length, which minimizes heat-related distress by allowing for ample air circulation.

Millennium Moon Boob Tube’s tribal screenprint looks quite fetching peeking out of a halfway-zipped sleeveless hoodie (think Spring 09’s Cybertronic Ragdoll line).

 

 

Oppressive weather provides the ultimate excuse for baring slightly more skin on first dates without coming off too Kardashian-esque (Read: Easier than the proverbial Sunday morning). Pair a Pin Me Up Cami Top in the black/red colorway with a plain black pencil skirt and red-lacquered pumps to hybridize the best of modern take-charge chicks and sultry vintage coquettes. If you still feel too naked, throw on a Broken Promises Bolero.

Even come August, those romantic hand-in-hand nighttime walks on the beach can get mighty chilly. Never a better time to score some “good boyfriend points” with your lady friend than by loaning her some form of cover. Even better if said cover just happens to be the Autopsy Mens Y-Incision Hoodie. The only real downside being that you might not get it back.

Maxi dresses are everywhere this summer. Unfortunately, their great versatility and layering potential is too-often overshadowed by the hideous ikat print that’s, for a reason unbeknownst to me, so frequently featured in conjunction with this garment. For girls who lack desire to approximate a table runner, there’s Autopsy Cadaverous Maxi Dress. Just add wedges and some delightfully morbid taxidermy statement jewelry and you’re good to scare the shit out of small children on the boardwalk.

<3

Vanity Kills

Unholy Forces of Pink

Story by: Dan Barrett (a devout aficionado of unintelligible black metal band logos)

“Call the rest of your brothers – I’ll give their hearts to the wolves!” The trees trembled as she spoke. Sickly stench of the dead lingered in the air around the Throne of Cupcakes. Sadly, there were none left with the strength to adequately answer her proposition. “Psh!” She shook her head in disdain and produced a small cylindrical container carved from white oak. Her slender fingers massaged the lid as she methodically uncorked it; from its bowels leaked the fair scents of lavender and cherry frosting, mingling with the odor of rotting bodies until they overtook the foulness completely, like an insurmountable army crushing a rebel faction.

The princess of the Rouge Empire of Cuteness sat aloft in her ancient carven throne amid the woodlands beyond the parapets and ramparts of the castle walls. The failed siege by the pirates of Rosencrown lay covered in moist earth before her. Plant-life and moss had begun to entomb the oldest of the collapsed bodies. Like many other wayward cultures, they wanted unauthorized access to the Rouge Vaults of Cute Cats, which could only be granted by the Matriarch. This treasure would not fall into the hands of foreign nations. Though this battle was over, there would inevitably be many more to come.

She rose from the magnificent throne and lifted high the great skull of a long- horned beast which rested atop the chair. From her entrancing lips she issued a vicious warning to any who might hear it: “Twenty thousand have raised their swords against this kingdom and all have fallen, trembling at my feet. My blade thirsts for the blood of my adversaries. May the four winds carry my battlecry; if any others should desire to come against my kingdom, let them hear my words. All men who harbor aggression towards us shall leave this earth with the taste of steel in their mouths and their bodies ravaged by my weapons. No peril shall befall my blessed dominion.”

One part Gorgoroth, two parts Hello Kitty

Inspiration List: Bones, Ruthlessreview.com’s notorious “Top 10 Most Ridiculous Black Metal Pics of All Time” list, Hello Kitty, Conan the Barbarian, my undying love of taking over-the-top black metal parody photos, deconstructing “kvltness”, Immortal’s “Unholy Forces of Evil”, the color pink, grim forests of New Jersey, Lords of Chaos (one of my favorite books of all time), scratching the itch to pose with cloven-hooved ungulate skulls and Bill’s fancy throne.

Black metal strives to embody 100% pure evil. No filler, no preservatives, and naturally: NO CORE NO TRENDS NO FUN NO MOSH. In their everlasting (and oddly similar to gangsta rap) crusade to keep it real, the artists which dominated the genre grew notorious for setting houses of worship ablaze, stab- happy Norwegians, and stages decorated with staked sheep heads. And Satan help you if the mainstream took a liking to your musical stylings. MTV airplay surely meant getting 86ed from the “kvlt klvb”.

Ironically, black metal’s unmistakably signature style of reveling in obscurity allowed for instant recognition. Slavishly cultivating a predictably uniform affinity for completely unreadable band logos, lo-fi black and white album covers completely undistinguishable from each other, constant flip-flopping between Satanism & Norse Heathenism, and vehement opposition to good production left little room for an element of surprise. That said, there’s certain comfort in knowing that one can blindly pick any CD emblazoned with arbitrarily placed disembodied goat heads and runic symbols and still hear the same old cum-gurgling goblin vocals they’ve come to know and love.

The wardrobe serves as an extension of one’s malignant soul: colorless and humorless. Burzum shirts and bullet belts for day; getups that could only be described as an unholy bastard child of Medieval LARP-ers and an achromatic Ronald McDonald for nights of demonic evocation Under a Funeral Moon. By “demonic evocation”, I clearly mean taking promo shots for scene-mandated obligatory bedroom projects. And a promo photo it ain’t until hooded robes, Thor’s hammers, corpse paint, and spiked gauntlets cover every last available inch of flesh (that isn’t tattooed with Nordic knotwork). The grimaced visages of all parties present must be frozen in a permanent expression of sheer terror brought forth by unexpected yet, nonetheless, secretly enjoyed surprise buttseckz. Let it be noted that snow-blanketed nighttime forest settings make for the only admissible location.

If willing to overlook a distinct lack of dragons and cod pieces (the power metal scene laid claim to those individually wrapped little slices of processed cheese product) one is likely to notice a definite Conan-esque flair to the imagery. Barbarians of sword and sorcery epics tend to be celebrated for their wanton brutality, perpetual bloodthirst and adherence to Nordic pagan values. Alas, one must take care not to take their Cimmerian cosplay too literally, lest they risk veering into Manowar territory. Horned helmets and beastly pelts are generally considered acceptable, while sandaled feet and chainmail underwear which do little to uphold the sacred tenet of “black metal ist krieg” are strictly verboten. For as the covenant between Euronymous and the unwashed masses states: “Thou shalt be necro at all times!”

Today’s fashion objective lies in sourcing style elements from iconic black metal trappings, re-imagined with unexpected elements of frolicsome pink. Let us happily de-saturate the levels of “tr00 kvlt”, by coloring outside the traditionally blacker than pitch lines with gleeful notes of My Little Pony hues. While we’re at it, let’s cast Hello Kitty in the upcoming Conan the Barbarian remake. After all, nothing beats relaxing with a cupcake in hand all curled up under your Barbie blanket after a long hard day of crushing your enemies, seeing them driven before you, and hearing the lamentation of their women.

Cute meets grim in…

• Nocturnal Rendezvous Ruffle Shrug #38-116 in the black/magenta colorway.Puffed sleeves are the girlie girl’s answer to spiked shoulder pads. No football armor, trips to Home Depot, nor any assembly required!
• Undeniably Dem Bones cami top #56-296 in the black/white colorway comes standard in the grimmest of all prints. No bones about it!
• Pink PVC platforms of ankle-snapping height pose no threat to the talus bones of the enthroned.
• Swap an inverted cross necklace (and no there’s nothing wrong with those, thank you very much) for a vinyl cameo brooch pinned to the side of Lolita Candy Snap Front Neck Collar #28-426 in the black/pink colorway.
• Threatened by the prospect of showing up at Fenriz’s Annual Virgin Sacrifice & Keg Party ‘11 donning the same ensemble as Dark Funeral (again), I opted for a solid black PVC ruffled bustle skirt over the leather pants and shin guards.
• The leopard print underbust corset appeases the savage beast inside.

Corpse paint has its’ place. Immortal’s publicity photos wouldn’t be the same without it. Giant pandas slither out of the womb sporting their trademark ghastly pallor and those dead, hollow, blackened eye sockets. And for many of us it’s what essentially defined 1990’s Norway. With all due respect, when worn in the streets with reckless abandon, the general public will gladly consider those Dimmu Borgir-esque facial doodles an open invitation to beat you senseless faster than you can utter a muffled “Infernal hails”.

Quench your Transilvanian Hunger (without Juggalos mistaking you for one of their own) with yummy strawberry pink frosting lips and Carpathian Forest inspired green gradient eyes.

General Prep Work

You will need:

Moisturizer, Primer, Concealer, Matte liquid Foundation, Foundation Brush, Translucent Powder, Powder brush, Eyeshadow primer

1. Wash your face with a cleanser formulated especially for your skin type. Rinse thoroughly and pat dry with a soft cloth. Prep your skin with moisturizer before applying concealer in order to ensure a smoother, flake-free application.
2. Before proceeding any further, allow your skin to properly absorb the moisturizer. This should take about 10 minutes.
3. Since foundation worn alone often has a nasty habit of settling in the fine lines around your mouth, near your eyes, and on your forehead, I highly recommend using a primer after you’ve moisturized your face. Utilizing a small amount of primer helps to fill in unflattering expression lines, pores, and scars, thus allowing foundation to actually do its job!
4. Nix blemishes and skin discoloration by gently patting concealer over the trouble area. Follow by blending with your ring finger.
5. Apply a matte liquid foundation which best matches your skin tone to your face and neck with a foundation brush (a full dome shaped brush works beautifully). Start by applying small dots in the center of your face and then moving outward.
6. Set everything in place by finishing off with a thin coat of translucent powder. Use a full, round shaped powder brush for optimal results.
7. Prep your lids with eyeshadow primer to neutralize the colour of your lids, which in turn makes for brighter more vibrant shadow. It also prevents said shadow from creasing.

Eyes

You will need:

Rounded edge brush, deep forest green pigment, emerald green eyeshadow, fluffy shading brush, neon yellow-green eyeshadow, small blending brush, neutral beige eyeshadow, white eyeliner pencil, eyeliner brush, black mascara

1. Using a slightly dampened rounded edge brush, apply deep forest green pigment to the outer 1/3 portion of your eyelid, starting at the lashline and extend it slightly past the crease.
2. Blend a lighter emerald green eyeshadow into the middle 1/3 of your lid with the help of a fluffy shading brush. Yet again, start at the lashline extending the shadow slightly past the crease. Take extra care to blend the edge of the emerald green into the deep forest green you added in Step 1. You’ll want this transition to be as smooth and seamless as possible.
3. Fill in the innermost 1/3 corner of your eye with neon yellow-green eyeshadow applied with a small blending brush. The color should be blended up, outward and into emerald green shadow you used in Step 2.
4. Highlight your browbone with neutral beige eyeshadow applied with a cleaned fluffy shading brush.
5. Dab a small amount of the same deep forest green pigment you used in Step 1 onto a lightly moistened eyeliner brush. Tap off the excess. Line ¾ of your bottom lashline starting at the outer corner of your eye, slowly making your way toward the inner corner.
6. Use a hint of neon yellow-green eyeshadow to line the remaining ¼ of your bottom inner lashline in an identical manner.
7. To really open up the eyes; line your lower waterline with a white eyeliner pencil.
8. Curl your eyelashes with an eyelash curler and top off with 2 coats of black mascara.

Cheeks

You will need:

Matte light taupe blush, dusty rose blush, blush brush, highlighter (optional)

1. Swipe some matte light taupe blush onto your blush brush. Starting mid-cheek, going towards your ear, apply this warm, slightly brownish-gray shade (it’s less scary than it sounds) into the hollows of your cheeks using short, up-and-down vertical strokes. Darker shades will give the illusion of the hollows of your cheeks receding, which enhances the overall definition of your cheekbones.
2. For a soft yet sculpted finish, brush a dusty rose blush along the cheekbones, starting at the apples, working your way toward the temples.
3. Dabbing a small amount of highlighter onto the tops of cheekbones creates a visual lift.

Lips

You will need:

Hot pink lipliner, Magenta lipstick

1. Use a hot pink lipliner to fill in your lips, starting at the center of your natural lip line and moving toward the outer corners.
2. With the help of a lip brush, deposit a small amount of intensely hot pink lipstick onto the center of your mouth, carefully pulling the color out toward the corners. To ensure lipstick-free teeth, place a finger horizontally in your mouth, close your lips around it and pull out slowly.

Credits

Photography:Bill Tracy Photography

Model:Vanity Kills

Location: “Trondheim, Norway”(errrrr Montague, NJ)

Infernal Hails!

Vanity Kills

Story by: Dan Barrett

I had been tracking the thing for nearly five years, and the culmination of my rigorous efforts had finally paid off. After painstakingly monitoring the haunted Pine Barrens of New Jersey, vigilantly tracking the movements of the legendary Jersey Devil, I had at last caught it off guard during one of its extremely rare daytime appearances. There had been much construction in the area in the last quarter century, encroaching into the devil’s suspected habitat, and as a result the number of sightings had increased greatly.

On this day, it had come to an outcropping of unused cement pipes; seemingly creeping ever-closer to the nearby town in order to feed. One would not dare to hunt the thing at night, for it takes on a most heinous and otherworldly form in these dark hours, impossibly grotesque and fearsome enough to cause the most stalwart of hunters to flee. During waking hours, however, it seemed to take on a traditional human form; this must be how it evaded humanity for its alleged two and a half century existence. When I saw it appear in plain sight, I knew I had a small window to work with and instantaneously leapt into action. I was able to take down the cursed, devil-spawned 13th child somewhat easier than expected with my plethora of hunting paraphernalia.

Once subdued, I planned to return the fiend to civilization and collect a ransom from the city. On the condition there was no ransom out for the creature, I would instead present it carnival freak-show style to earn back the money I spent acquiring the gear used to apprehend it. The beast did not seem pleased when told of its newly apportioned fate. I took it to a large metal shipping container which should adequately serve to house the thing. I chained it inside and left, planning to return the subsequent day. Upon returning, I discovered I had grossly underestimated the Jersey Devil. With an inhuman, ear-piercing howl, it easily snapped off the restraints and descending upon me, tearing me into a hundred bits with its horrible clawed hands. When the massacre concluded it retreated into the ill-lit dusk, primed to kill again.

The Jersey Devil Made You Do It

I’ve called myself a resident of many places. For close to three years I lived in a particularly depressing town, inconveniently located in the Southern Tier of New York state, called Binghamton (it’s actually considered to be one of the “bigger” towns in Upstate New York, but you’ve probably never heard of it). Believe me when I say that it was nothing to write home about. And because upstate New York is such a non-stop party, six months later I moved three and a half hours north to Buffalo. While my reason for moving there can’t be chalked up to either good or sober decision making, anything was a vast improvement over the ass end of nowhere that was Binghamton. I now live in Washington DC. Ideally, I’d love to live in either Toronto or Montreal, and luckily I’ve never lived in Pennsylvania (straddling the PA border in godforsaken Binghamton proved to be evidential enough to the fact that the Universe conspired against me). And despite spending the first nine years of my life in southern Poland, I always have and always will consider myself to be from New Jersey.

Oh shit, you mean Bruce Springsteen? Bon Jovi? Those guidos on Jersey Shore? The mafia? Bad smells?

I can’t even NAME a Bruce Springsteen song, mainly due to the fact that I relocated to New Jersey in 1992 from Eastern Europe. Having discovered “goth” just a few years after, left me quite happily ignorant of mainstream pop icons in general. Especially those who took the stage way before my time. Based on that principle of being a “blissfully unaware foreigner” I’m only vaguely acquainted with Bon Jovi. He does that “Living on a Prayer” track, right? Most of the guidos don’t even live in New Jersey (try Poughkeepsie and Staten Island, both conveniently located in New York). Alas, my Polish father liked to talk about the mafia while intoxicated when I was younger, so yeah, you got me there. That shit is probably true. It only smells ON THE FUCKING TURNPIKE in north Jersey, since it’s a high-traffic stretch of highway sandwiched between numerous factories. And that ladies and gentlemen is my humble way of saying “Fuck you New York, if you’re gonna hate on us, why do you keep on coming back to our “smelly” beaches?” Just sayin’.

With that said, the show that put the Garden State on the world’s radar in the worst way possible is essentially on point. Guidos do flock to Seaside Heights in droves during warm vacation months. They do look like oompa loompas on stereoids. They love to start fights. Like any other working/middle class New Jersey-ian kid I’d go to Seaside Heights every summer with my parents. In my teenage years, as my interest in booze and cheap thrills grew inversely proportional to being seen with my family, I’d hit the shore with friends in search of strong frozen drink, high calorie foods and House of the Dead arcade games. If you stayed on the boardwalk past dusk, you’d be guaranteed to see at least one guido fight break out. Every. single. fucking. time.

But that’s not MY New Jersey.

My New Jersey isn’t Club Karma and made-for-reality-TV-drama. It’s QXT’s in Newark. It’s devouring post-club grease in seedy diners at 5 am, driven by an alcohol-fueled urge to feed without worrying about your calorie intake. It’s record shops that still carry industrial music. It’s urban exploration of all the magnificent decay. It’s Clinton Road and the Devil’s Tree. It’s submitting your own spin on a local legend to the pages of Weird NJ. It’s the Asbury Park Zombie Walk. It’s a Six Flags that doesn’t suck. It’s exquisite views of Manhattan from across the river, minus the Manhattan rent. It’s 908, 973 and 201. It’s real life landmarks you see in Kevin Smith movies (Yes, the Quick Stop Jay & Silent Bob hang out in front of is very much real). It’s a little bit vulgar (but I like it that way). It’s never running out of photoshoot locations. And no, I can’t forget the shore (Nobody in New Jersey calls it “a beach”, it’s always “the shore”).

No matter what my current zip code may be, it will always be home.

And this is how I personally channel the state of New Jersey through my wardrobe. Your mileage might vary.

• Anything slightly too loud, just a tad excessive and “a little too much” (i.e.: stripper approved footwear, corsets)
• Big hair is essentially an institution in the state of New Jersey.
• Leopard print should be worn often and liberally.
• Heavily made up eyes are not merely accepted nor encouraged, they’re required by law.
• Das Bunker Cap Sleeve Top in the black/gunmetal colorway. . We’ve got a pretty decent industrial scene in NJ. Represent in hot rivet girl wear.
• A clear absence of anything beginning with “Ed” and ending with “Hardy”.
• Fishnets.Once the whole fucking world thinks you’re trashy, you might as well own the cliché and make it your bitch.

Credits

Photography:Andrew Ellis Photography

Model:Vanity Kills

Location(s): New Jersey…duh

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Vanity Kills

Space Police

Story by: Dan Barrett

The commissioner’s face materialized on the silver video screen next to the bed. Grey light from dome’s simulated sun pierced the window and reflected into her eyes from the display’s metallic border. She was being called into action to prevent another attack on an incoming interstellar freighter; this one was scheduled to dock at port 17. The image fizzled out and the monitor receded back into its fitted slot in the steel plated wall. She hopped up and threw on her uniform, her shoes clanking lightly against the linoleum flooring of the housing unit. At the door she punched in the command sequence and the lift elevator arrived speedily to whisk her to the ground floor twenty six levels below. She vaulted into her hover car and took the tunnel under the ruins of the midtown bridge – the quickest way to get to the shipping terminals. Once she arrived, ray gun in hand, she moved stealthy past the silver, glass-encased high rises and gardening robots tending to the vegetation carefully arranged in efficient rows interspersed throughout the cities’ sidewalks. The building which housed the terminals was surrounded by large, saucer shaped light rigs which contained super-efficient atomic bulbs that could last 5,000 years without replacement. The roughly diamond shaped, concrete guard post with trapezoidal windows was abandoned: a clear sign of foul play. She quietly entered through a side door and noticed that the two security cameras blinking at irregular frequencies, likely an indication of tampering. She un-holstered her weapon and began the trek down the long, dustless corridors making up the myriad, though efficiently designed, innards of the terminals, where eventually she would confront and take down another day’s worth of lunar bandits, with enough time to hit the new hyper sauna 3000 before nightfall.

Inspiration List: My boyfriend who, upon seeing the Das Bunker Cap Sleeve Top informed me that the shirt looks akin to something “Space Police” might wear. I took it as an issue of challenge and ran with the idea head-first at full speed.

Additional inspiration: I cannot help but be enthralled by some of the finest examples of Brutalist architecture Washington DC has to offer. I’m especially partial to the UFO-like plastic canopies lining the plaza in front of the stately exposed concrete behemoth that is the Robert C .Weaver Building, closely followed by the cylindrical Hirschorn museum, often referred to as “a spacecraft parked on the National Mall”, and likened to a bunker. I knew juxtaposing the austerity of the béton brut with the bright optimism earmarked by tales of star-faring, silver-Ray-Gun-toting heroines of the Space Age era would be a marriage made in retrofuturist heaven.

First came the asbestos

In the beginning of the 20th century, as mankind inched closer and closer to the still mystery-enshrouded year 2000, it was hard to imagine what wonders this mythical “land of tomorrow” might have in store for the clothes-conscious citizen of the future, but it certainly didn’t stop scientists, designers and Sci-Fi writers alike from taking (often hilariously wrong) guesses. Yesterday’s sartorial speculations of what the brave new world might hold for us usually scored fairly high on the WTF scale. For example, 1913 prophesized the dawn of a new style era spearheaded by the popularization of the phototropic garment. Clothing would readily conform to the amount of light present in its immediate vicinity. In theory, a simple light-colored sheath would morph from beach wear to darker hued barroom attire as day turned to night. No changing necessary. I suppose the only thing they got right there was the fact that the “women of the future” visit more bars than they did in 1913. Then, in 1929, “fashion forward” became synonymous with dresses of asbestos and aluminum. But hey, I’ll take that over the recent resurgence of those hideous early 90’s floral prints that brutally beat my aesthetic sensibilities into the ground every time I step foot in a mall.

Some of those wise men of the past also foretold personal aerial vehicles, which still have failed to materialize.

And then space flight became a reality

Mass hysteria followed.

The excitement of conquering the final frontier influenced everything under the sun. Little Jimmy pretended to shoot the neighbor’s kid with his shiny new toy ray gun, Mommy read her racy paperback romance novels by the light of a Sputnik-shaped bedside lamp and the teenaged sis made out with her school’s football hero in the back of his tail-fin pimped 1959 Cadillac Eldorado. And that was just the present. The oh-so-eagerly anticipated future was going to be like 500x more awesome, right?

We’d have robot nannies to raise our brood (more time for those steamy paperbacks for Mommy), smart houses that cleaned themselves (and were possibly voiced by a pleasantly alluring British accent) and we’d regularly take summer vacation to Mars. Can I get a FUCK YEAH, MARS?

Oh, and we’d all dress like the Jetsons. But darker. Therefore giving a giant fuck you to the popular notion that “cybergoth” is the only way to rock futuristic frocks.

Sometimes in order to see the future, it’s very much necessary to look into the past.

Industrial Pinup

Forsaking eye-blinding neons in favor of a palette inspired by both the vast blackened vacuum of the cosmos and progress carved from concrete and steel. Future seen through the eyes of the past, spotlighting the mid-century’s focus on showcasing the female shape, is the perfect vehicle for the industrial pinup. Tapping into the grace of the yesteryear, while simultaneously millennia ahead of her peers, she does “futureperfect” while wholly circumnavigating thedomain of the cybergoth. And you’d never mistake her for a raver.

• Das Bunker Cap Sleeve Top in the black/gunmetal colorway boasts exaggerated, angular shoulders that get the “retrofuture” message across loud and clear. And suit the female body better than the unisex jumpsuit and other retrofuristic fashion don’ts that its ilk do. Not particularly feeling all the excessive décolletage? Simply layer a basic black stretch bandeau underneath, lending the appearance of a more modest look, without adding the burden of actually wearing multiple pieces.
• Traditionally a garment of the past, the corset is given a new life in PVC, a manmade petroleum based industrial textile.
• A knee length black skirt gives structure to the ensemble, preventing it from crossing over into cosplay territory.
• Channeling the reflective aluminum sheen of the satellites silver was all the rage during the Space Age. Beam up your “retro rivet” quotient with a silver circuit printed wedge cap.
• Clunky platforms give way to metallic tack studded strappy boot wedges
• Keep it catty in a purrfect pair of Leopard Fishnet Tights.
• Pew…pew….lasers! The Ray Gun is fairly self explanatory, right? I mean how the fuck else are you going to kill space pirates?

Detailed victory roll instructions can be found here here. And just like I mentioned in Springtime Sacrifice the “if you fuck up one roll beyond repair cover it up with a hat” rule still applies.

Keeping with the “retro” theme, here are two makeup looks from editions of Lethal Style past that would easily complement this getup:

• The black/silver look from Springtime Sacrifice.
• The “no fuss gold look” from Donut Quest.Though I swapped the black liquid eyeliner for a metallic lime green and opted for a red-orange tomato tinted lip in place of the nude pink pout in the Space Police shoot.

Credits

Photography: Wynn Studio

Model:Vanity Kills

Location: exterior of the Robert C .Weaver Building & the Hirschorn Museum in Washington DC

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Vanity Kills

Springtime Sacrifice

Story by: Dan Barrett

A prequel to Blood Harvest .

Tonight we will return to the bizarre southern town whose presence was spoken of before in these very pages. The place’s name has been long forgotten by urbane folk, and neither local map nor road sign will lead you to it. Prior to the civil war, the area had been a respected farming community for generations. However, at some dark turning point in history, not long after the war, an unknown epidemic hit and all but cleared the place out. No one is able to speak with certainty of these events, as whatever shadowy occurrence that took place was never written down, and all but erased from the collective memory of mankind, which is likely a blessing. The native folk have their rumors about the place, of course, everything from nuclear testing site to alien abduction. The most disconcerting claim, perhaps, is deep in the woods there is a doorway to hell itself, and the demons found a way to come through it, back into our world. It was these things which eviscerated the town, scared off the settlers, and forged a fear so deeply seated in man’s psyche he was forever mute to speak of them. However, you didn’t come here to listen to fables or old wives tales. You want to know the truth, no matter how abominable…

——

What follows may sound like little more than a rehearsed work of the macabre, to be placed on a library’s bookshelf in between similarly penned commercial tripe, but I can say with absolute authority it is quite a bit more than that. If my story sounds ghastly and warped, it is for good reason. I’ll tell you of that which you pursue, a glimpse into the blackened abysses of sincere horror and depravity, but you must promise never to seek it out for yourself, for nothing good will ever come of it!

About 10 years ago, in the summer of 2001, several friends and I were taking a car trip down south to an anime convention. Things were normal, until we started having car troubles. We pulled off on a random exit from I-65 and drove around the countryside for a bit, looking for some kind of service station. After twenty or thirty minutes of driving, the passenger side rear tire snagged a tremendous nail in the road and blew out. At that point, we were effectively stranded in the middle of nowhere; the car out of commission and no town or maintenance area in sight. After some deliberation we decided to follow a nearby trail up through the forest, in hopes it may lead to a development, or, perchance, a lone mansion of some aristocrat attempting to escape the bustle of the metropolis. As luck would have it, we came across what could loosely be referred to as the former, though it bore very few of the qualities we were expecting. The woods had opened up into vast farmlands, with many acres to the east consumed by corn stalks, and the west occupied mostly by an apple orchard. In the middle of these were some residences, though I couldn’t imagine people willingly called these shacks home. But strange folk have equally strange customs, as we would soon find out. There were 5 of us, and at this point we were all together as a group. Nominally, it was Joey, Matt, Blake, Lawrence, and myself. We were equal parts confused and nervous, but with no other options on the table, we decided to proceed and try to find someone with a phone, or vehicle, or … something.

Once we got into the central part of the, I suppose you could say, “village”, our fears were assuaged somewhat when we saw there were inhabitants. Unfortunately, none would return our attempt at dialogue. Perhaps they lacked the ability in general, as they seemed to do little more than pace about aimlessly and make low grunting noises. They did very little to even acknowledge our presence. At that point we split up; Matt, Joey and I went to check out the large saltbox style building which looked like some kind of mayor’s mansion, and Blake and Lawrence went to investigate a charcoal colored oblong structure which might possibly hold a store or marketplace. Blake was kind of an asshole, but it’s still unfortunate my last words to him were “meet us back by the corn in an hour”. We never saw the two alive again.

From the foot of the porch steps we stared upward at the house’s bucolic cedar casing. It was quickly clear our team’s exploration was a bust; the intricately carved mahogany doors were excessively worn and bolted shut, and there were no visible signs that the place was being used at all. The windows were obscured by layers of dust and the distortion of age. Defeated, we returned through the village to meet up with our friends and, hopefully, hear of their success. Sadly, there was to be only a swan song. On our way back we spotted the corpses of our companions, mounted on the side of the wilted building they were assigned to inspect, impaled through the necks. Their chest’s had been ripped open through some horrific feat, and from the gaping hole viscera, blood, and bile spilled out and was pooling on the ground below. The lumps of flesh and skin had become a minor ant colony to some bestial mutation of the common insect; the workers of the brood tearing it asunder and retreating to horde it in their dank subterranean tunnels. The bodies were an awful sight, and smelled terribly. A malicious crow had perched on Blake’s shoulder and was pecking out his right eyeball, the nerve of which was still loosely chaining it in place, producing small spouts of blood and greyish ooze. The gore had driven us both to sickness and the beginning stages of dementia, but I scarcely believe I hallucinated any of what was to follow.

From the darkness beyond the door-less, pine-framed entrance, a figure, straight from the bowels of purgatory, emerged. In appearance, it bore a strong resemblance to a human woman, but its wild look and aura was that of pure evil. While the rest of the denizens wore ripped and tattered farming clothes, the woman was wearing an antiquated Victorian garb comprised of a long dress and puff sleeved top. It had deep, vile red hair and the eyes of a hell-spawned succubus. Its lower face was drenched in carnage as blood poured from its open mouth. In its terrible, claw-like hand it held the exhumed heart of one of our friends! The woman spoke in a crude, sordid language interspersed with fragments of English. Apparently the villagers understood this bizarre dialect and, as beckoned, descended upon the three of us. The details of what happened next are not too clear to me; I was given a blow to the back of the head and I woke up sometime later in the midst of the apple orchard. Upon waking, I noticed I was lying on my back in the middle of a large symbol that had been etched into the ground. To either side of me, the fiends had restrained my friends and were mutilating their faces with aged carving knives and rusted cleavers. Their leader, the demon woman, was holding a heart aloft and chanting in some malevolent banshee language towards the sky. I gathered I was in the midst of some kind of ritual sacrifice, our bodies given in bloodied exchange for a plentiful crop (and very likely the same bodies and blood were going to be used for fertilizer). Though woozy, the sight of my buddies’ tortured, skinned faces blasted enough adrenaline to my nerves I was able to spring up quickly and dash back into the darkness of the forest. Whether I evaded them or they chose to let me go I will never know, but they did not re-capture me. I do not plan on finding out what their true motives were. So let this be a warning to you; it’s best to keep your distance from the foul backwoods.

Fashion that will tear your heart out (The tear your soul apart cliché was already taken by movie adaptations of Clive Barker novels).

• The slightly standoffish quasi-Victorian puff sleeves and corset laced back of the Black Diamond Dynasty #38-643 Victorian Jacket reflect your status as a cold, stern-faced yet charismatic creepy cannibal cult leader. While alternating shiny and matte black stripes and neckline trimmed with pleated ribbon flaunt its unabashedly feminine flourish. Leaving the term “heart stopper” open to interpretation more so than ever.
• The Black Diamond Dynasty 238-300-003 Mini Skirt easily holds its own, with those enticing peek-a-boo flashes of shimmering industrial netting sandwiched between layers of striped black PVC. Layering it over a lengthy, two-toned crinoline makes for an outfit twice as nice. The airiness of the cascading purposefully exposed underskirt, sporadically punctuated by a sudden flash of orange, adds dynamic movement, breaking up the dreary near head-to-toe blackness.Plus it’s hard to look at a multi-tiered orange and black flounced hemline petticoat and not think of decadently delicious edibles, such as pumpkin chocolate torte. Just writing about it brings on an uncontrollable craving for sweets. I suppose any garment with the power to cause inexplicable urge to eat your heart out whilst indulging in pastries and cupcakes is inherently ladylike.
• Strongly resembling the skeletal remains of a once robust wide brimmed hat, this unapologetically oversized spiderweb fascinator, can likely be seen from Google Earth. Sporting millinery this exaggerated in diameter, is somewhat akin to strapping a really, really glamorous satellite dish onto your head.
• Strategically mangled black “zombie” umbrella in lieu of typically frillier-than-thou gothy parasols.
• Within the context of a goth wardrobe, black PVC is, in essence, considered a “neutral”. And a great corset is the equivalent of those “Best Jeans for Your Butt” that women’s magazines devote countless articles to. Therefore, a truly well-crafted black PVC corset will carry you through just about any ensemble (from frou frou formal wear to Feindflug tees). Invest in the best and reap the benefits for years to come. That means NO $14.99 plastic boned lingerie “corsets” from Hong Kong based E-bay shops. The so-called plastic “boning” will bend as soon as you sit, yielding some rather unflattering results.

Retro Ripper

For detailed instructions regarding the construction of victory rolls please refer to El Chupacabra.

What I’ve learned about victory rolls in the past year:

• Hot rollers really ARE your friend.
• Freshly washed hair however is a dreaded foe. As is hair that is too greasy.
• Using the same brand of hairspray as select cast members of Jersey Shore will tame those unruly frizzies and flyaways. Hey, if that shit can cement their ridiculous blowouts in place as they Guido about in Seaside, then it will freeze your rolls in place as well.
• If you fuck up over and over and over again, placing a large flower in front of the less ahem…victorious roll will cover your shame. If the occasion (or your ensemble) allows for it, hiding the wonkier of the two rolls under a style appropriate hat will do the trick as well.

Lady is a Ghoul

The mistress of eerie-monies’ fervent desire to feast on precious your internal organs is reflected in the glint of her darkly iridescent, silvery black eyes and a mouth packing a generous dose of the macabre.

General Prep Work

You will need:

Moisturizer, Primer, Concealer, Matte liquid Foundation, Foundation Brush, Translucent Powder, Powder brush, Eyeshadow primer

1. Wash your face with a cleanser formulated especially for your skin type. Rinse thoroughly and pat dry with a soft cloth. Prep your skin with moisturizer before applying concealer in order to ensure a smoother, flake-free application.
2. Before proceeding any further, allow your skin to properly absorb the moisturizer. This should take about 10 minutes.
3. Since foundation worn alone often has a nasty habit of settling in the fine lines around your mouth, near your eyes, and on your forehead, I highly recommend using a primer after you’ve moisturized your face. Utilizing a small amount of primer helps to fill in unflattering expression lines, pores, and scars, thus allowing foundation to actually do its job!
4. Nix blemishes and skin discoloration by gently patting concealer over the trouble area. Follow by blending with your ring finger.
5. Apply a matte liquid foundation which best matches your skin tone to your face and neck with a foundation brush (a full dome shaped brush works beautifully). Start by applying small dots in the center of your face and then moving outward.
6. Set everything in place by finishing off with a thin coat of translucent powder. Use a full, round shaped powder brush for optimal results.
7. Prep your lids with eyeshadow primer to neutralize the colour of your lids, which in turn makes for brighter more vibrant shadow. It also prevents said shadow from creasing.

Eyes

You will need:

Rounded edge brush, iridescent black eyeshadow, metallic silver pigment, ivory eyeshadow, fluffy shading brush, eyeliner brush, black mascara

1. With the help of a rounded edge brush, apply iridescent black eyeshadow to the outer 1/3 portion of your eyelid, starting at the lashline and extend it slightly past the crease. Repeat the process on the inner 1/3 portion of your eyelid. Leave the middle 1/3 of your eyelid bare. Clean your brush prior to undertaking the next step.
2. Fill in the middle 1/3 portion of your lid entire eyelid area with metallic silver pigment applied with a clean and slightly dampened rounded edge brush. Starting at the lashline, yet again extending the shadow slightly past the crease, taking care to blend into the edges of the black shadow you added in Step 1.
3. Highlight your browbone with ivory eyeshadow applied with a fluffy shading brush.
4. Dab a small amount of the same iridescent black eyeshadow you used in Step 1 onto an eyeliner brush. Line ¾ of your bottom lashline starting at the outer corner of your eye, slowly making your way toward the inner corner.
5. Use a hint of silver pigment to line the remaining ¼ of your bottom inner lashline in an identical manner.
6. Curl your eyelashes with an eyelash curler and top off with 2 coats of black mascara.

At the Mouth of Madness

I used the same technique previously outlined in Blood Harvest to apply a papier-mâché mask to the lower portion of my face and neck. I find that adding three-dimensional texture to my skin causes the fake blood to adhere better. Unlike the blood splattered chest you see in Blood Harvest, I opted to stipple shades of cadaverous grays mixed with petroleum jelly onto the dried mask, leaving out darker colors such as black and red. The latter would’ve given me too much of a burn victim look, which wasn’t what I was after in this instance. I would alternate between applying a mixture of 1/3 petroleum jelly and 2/3 paint onto my face with a medium sized paintbrush and adding a heavy coat of translucent powder until reaching the degree of corpse-like pallor my heart desired. The translucent powder also helped to blend the edges of the mask into my own skin.

Following almost an identical DIY blood formula* I posted in Blood Harvest, I cautiously added some gory finishing touches onto the raised parts of my papier-mâché masked face. Using the same medium sized paintbrush I used to apply the cadaver grey shade, I carefully painted my face and neck with small amounts of fake blood. I don’t recommend dousing yourself with the stuff if you plan on wearing something that you don’t want to ruin (like my Black Diamond Dynasty jacket).Since paintbrushes allow for a more controlled application, you run less of a risk of trashing your tops, and subsequently raising more than a few eyebrows the next time you drop off your dry cleaning. Naturally, I highly advise that you undertake this messy procedure wearing as little clothing as possible or at the very least whilst rockin’ something that once belonged to The Ex. Oh and don’t forget to always allow for ample drying time :)

*I omitted the oatmeal.

PS! Did you know that March 2011 marks the 3rd anniversary of yours truly blogging for the Lip Service webzine? Tis true. I authored my very first blog entry for Lippy in March of 2008.

Credits

Photography: Maura Housley

Model: Vanity Kills

Location: Martinsburg, West Virginia

<3

Vanity Kills

The Squid Man Lives!

Story by: Dan Barrett

The rotting cottage loomed ominously at the edge of the murky bayou. These ruins, long forgotten by the present civilization, would not appear on any map you could buy, nor would any boat be traveling in their vicinity. The place was deep in the Louisiana bayou, south of New Orleans near a place that was once called Ascension Bay. The remains of the bungalow would suggest something had resided there at one point or another in history, though none of the locals could recall what, nor when, it had been anything other than swampland. There was no point in traversing the thick marsh to get near the ruins anyway; the useful items and prey could easily be gotten in the bog’s less dense and dismal regions. Despite the place’s seemingly uninhabitable nature, there was indeed a creature who called this place home. A terrifying hybrid beast, long severed from the lineage of normal swamp man: Squid Man.

The anthropomorphic squid monster made its home in this shadowy everglade, undisturbed, for countless years. It sustained itself by hunting and killing fish, like the fearsome barracuda (note: though not native to the ecosystem, much like the Burmese python in the Everglades this invasive species was introduced by disillusioned pet owners and, strangely, thrived in the brackish waters of this particular bayou. Squid Man enjoyed hunting these due to their ferocious nature), and shellfish which lived in the waterways, along with swamp deer, nutria, and whatever else it could wrap its slimy tentacles around. It spent most of its time grazing in the rivers of the great swap, and could submerge itself for longs periods of time to track prey. Primarily a nocturnal creature, it would occupy many a night with relaxing in the water, enjoying the murmurs and buzzes of the swamp, and gaze at the stars, the sky unjaded by the brightly lit touch of the humans which the tentacled one so detested. When necessary, it would take shelter in the remains of the lone antiquated gator catcher’s shack, the remnants of which, scarcely four walls and what could questionably be labeled a roof, would provide adequate lodging until it could return to hunt or swim. When researchers entered its lair, some years later, they discovered the organism had ornamented the walls of the broken house with the decorated pelts of many of its kills. The adornment seemed to be somewhat artistic, perhaps even ritualistic, although the purpose of keeping these items is still undetermined. The few people who had ever ventured that deep into the swamp have reported the area surrounding the house was permeated with a dense fog, and noted they thought they had seen faint green lights deep within the mist in close proximity to the edifice. This was probably the main factor which would lead to the rumors the marsh monster was of either demonic or alien origin.

The origins of Squid Man are unclear, at best. Until approximately 6 years ago, the cephalopod was completely unknown to the local residents. There were no confirmed recorded sightings, although perhaps the nonsensical stories of a few drunken thrill-seekers did have an iota of truth to them, though understandably these had been brushed off as intoxicated fantasies. But then, oddly, after years of concealment, it emerged from the confines of the bog. It took up residence in a nearby town, somehow renting an apartment and compiling a remarkable assortment of music making machines. The owner of the apartment building was spooked when asked about the being, and all he divulged was he was convinced that through an old voodoo curse his family bloodline was under a hex, and the squid headed entity was an ancient demon from the abyss watching him to make sure he paid his debt to society. For this reason he gave the briny horror a room. Tenants often complained of strange, disturbing noise and the overwhelming smell of raw, putrid fish coming from the room. About a year after isolating itself in the apartment, the green beast materialized once again, and further integrated itself into society. Now, it had created CDs of music and was distributing them out to the local clubs and DJs. It was calling the sound on these discs ‘power noise’. Surprisingly, this music apparently appeals to some remote faction of the population, and the Squid Man’s project actually caught on. Some promoters even asked for it to perform at their club. Word of the phenomenon spread, and the muck-encrusted one went on to perform its power noise at many a venue in other cities. The harsh, crushing beats pummeled audiences as much as their confusion when they realized an actual monstrosity was creating these sounds. Through it all, it never lost its hatred of humans. It refused to ever give interviews or talk to either press or fans. It was even rumored to have eaten the brains of several paparazzi who ventured too close looking for a scoop. For several years, the creature from the swamp captivated, terrorized and perplexed the denizens of the industrial scene until one day he was offered a major record contract with Universal records. Unfortunately, as it was a squid, could only shoot ink from its detestable mouth, and could not give enough vocalizations to auto-tune. Upon realizing what auto-tune was, the slimy fiend, in a fit of rage, destroyed the studio and mauled several interns, consuming their brains in the process. After the incident, the label was forced to tear up the contract and Squid Man, unable to bring himself to sellout, returned back to the depths of the ancient swamp to again gaze at the darkness of the nightsky, untainted by the bright lights of human civilization. He was never heard from again, but his legacy lives on through 15$ plastic discs covered in seemingly alien symbolism, and t-shirts bearing his visage. They say on calm nights if you stand at the edge of the bayou and listen carefully, you can still hear the faint crackle of power noise in the distance.

Disclaimer: All taxidermy props showcased within the context of this photoshoot were thrifted.

Inspiration List: Cinematic swamp sleaze( Namely Hatchet), cephalopods, Ziggy Stardust(though admittedly I’ve never quite developed a taste for Bowie’s sound), recycled taxidermy, fog enshrouded bayou lore, Worms of the Earth live shows, The X-Files, knitted headwear bearing a slight similarity to Lovecraftian horrors, cryptozoology and power noise.

Behold the biogenesis of a new species!

Creepy cryptids that lurk in the murk favor dead-fauna-hued apparel that will easily allow them to blend into snarls of decaying parasitic vines that make up the seemingly impenetrable, tangled overgrowth of the quagmire that they call their home. The Squid Man wraps his mantle in a soft acrylic knit long sleeved Black Dog Sweater 34-51 Tunic Top in the olive colorway prior to embarking on his nightly swamp stomp. The black stretch canvas contrast at the shoulders and twill tape accents on the back add further points of interest to this sexier, significantly more form fitting alternative to the ghillie suit (though ensembles fashioned with the purpose of transforming man into a vaguely humanoid mobile bush are pretty damn sexy in their own right, don’t you think?)

Clever marine invertebrate disguise

Moss draped MIDI controllers, partially moth eaten raccoon pelts and spoiled fish carcasses all make for mire mutant-turned-the-next-big-thing-in-electronic-music approved accessories.

Regardless of what tall tales might have been spawned deep in the heart of the South’s hazy wetlands(or the narrative above), the Squid Man’s true origin is less enveloped in a cloak of esoteric phenomena than many were initially lead to believe. The betentacled menace was brought forth into our world one sunny November afternoon. Matter-of-factly, not a single cumulonimbus cloud threatened the skies with its ominous, stormy presence as four twentysomething adventurers combed Washington DC’s affluent Georgetown neighborhood, presumably in pursuit of fun.

Truth of the matter was that, my boyfriend Dan’s project, Worms of the Earth played in Baltimore the night before, which prompted several of our New Jersey friends to take a little “down South” road trip in order to catch the live performance. This resulted in us hosting two of them, namely Ray and Val, at our apartment for the remainder of the weekend. During one of the days we ventured to one of the two sections of town that actually stays open on the weekends. It was here that we decided to pay a visit to the local purveyor of assorted hipster tchotchke. It wasn’t necessarily a conscious decision; it was more of a spur of the moment “I wonder what kind of silly garbage they are peddling” inquiry. In between the overpriced books on Lego depictions of fornication, holga cameras, and the history of pointless tattoos, we discovered the diamond in the rough: the face-protecting form of the mighty giant squid. Dan had been scouring the net for this very thing for quite some time, and to make it even more ironic, he had eaten calamari earlier that day (and not, as he expected, calamari rings, but the squid grilled in its original form; head, tentacles and all). So, between the consumption and the dawning of the visage, he fully absorbed the squid’s power and gave rise to the fabled Squid Man persona.

The Squid Man made its debut at a show in Baltimore where Worms of the Earth opened for power noise mainstays Terrorfakt. People seemed to thoroughly enjoy the gimmick, and, as an added bonus, nearly everyone likened the mask to Cthulhu, which works out considering Dan’s love of HP Lovecraft and the influence of said author’s work on the Worms of the Earth project.

More information can be found on the Worms of the Earth website and you can hear the latest EP, Bugs Crawling Out Of People, released via industrial label bandcamp. Additionally, he is working on putting together a compilation of IDM, Industrial and Dark Ambient music for the Wounds of the Earth blogzine.

Credits

Photography & Set Design: Wynn Studio

Model: Dan Barrett(See more of Dan in In Abandoned Places II and MKSEARCH, Subproject 55)

Concept & Styling: Vanity Kills

Location: Parkville, MD

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Vanity Kills