Section: Lethal Style

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

<3

Vanity Kills

[Show as slideshow]

12►

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

[Show as slideshow]

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.

[Show as slideshow]

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

<3

Vanity Kills

The Birthday Girl

see full size in gallery below

Another birthday had come, and with it one more party to add to the list. We were at one of my favorite bars in the city; we being myself and a close-knit circle of good friends I’ve amassed over the years, those I truly felt close to. It was a moderately satisfying, if rather uneventful, night; the bar crowd was typical and the drinks were pleasantly mediocre. We were overdressed, of course, decked out in lavish flowing gowns and enormous hair more fit for a ballroom than a barstool. But this was a celebration and absolutely no time to conceal our love for the garish!

The venue was in full swing, but the lack of exciting dialogue was causing prime time to feel more akin to mime time. Something that would take the night from a blasé 4 to a riveting 8+ was in order. As if on cue, the dubious on-and-off love interest of my old college roommate decided to grace us with his typically “too cool for school” presence. He was an odd fellow, known for both his ironic Franz Ferdinand moustache and highly acclaimed work within the field of street pharmacy. He stepped forward to reveal that he had a blotter securely tucked away in the gargantuan Native American tribal chief ceremonial headdress perched atop his head. Not ones to normally partake in such rash activities (such as conversing with hipsters), we thought ill of the notion at first, but ultimately decided to throw reason on its head and see where this new development may lead us (possibly jail). There were three of us that decided to indulge and we each ingested our respective portion. For some time there was little impact beyond elevated adrenaline levels, but suddenly the world began to grow thin and long until a blackness corroded the lens of perception.

see full size in gallery below

After some time, as to the duration of which I could offer no educated guess, I became aware of myself once again. I was standing up, apparently the same as I had been at the bar but, in growing cognizant of my surroundings, I realized that I was somewhere quite apart from said city-dwelling tavern. There was simply what appeared to be a ramshackle, old dwelling floating solitarily in a void; nothing but amorphous darkness beyond the small bit of soil and several trees serving as the withering buildings’ meager estate. My options were few, and panic oddly suppressed, so I decided to see what lie within the crumbling edifice.

Not surprisingly, the interior matched the degeneration of the exterior; the walls were stripped of paint and paper, the floors were missing large sections and the ceilings were precariously cracked and splintering. There was dull light streaming in from an unforeseen angle which provided something of a conduit in navigating the inner sanctum of the structure. The bottom levels were all but uncharitable, so rather than tempt fate, I chose to ascend the staircase in the front room. Reaching the top of the stairs, I noticed that many of the upper rooms would nary accommodate a human body; however though, one particularly large empty room stood out among them as potentially habitable. With nowhere else to traverse, I ventured into this area.

Save for the bits of crumbled plaster and brick around the edges of the room, the floor was entirely bare. The walls had become uniformly blank with age, and the only things which stood out were a long abandoned fireplace and a rather dusty, ancient couch. This was strange enough, until, in a startling revelation, I noticed that some force or entity had posted a sizable HAPPY BIRTHDAY marquee along the back wall, and left a rather bulky cube-shaped present on the rustic couch. Both of these items lacked signs of age or length of stay. Normally, I would run from this uncanny scene, frightened out of my mind, but the effects of the drug and/or the blur of the dreamlike state caused in me an intense curiosity instead, and a distinct lack of fear. This was apparently to be my private astral party and I, as the guest of honor, should take care not miss it. I took my place on the dust-encrusted throne and proceeded to take the present into my lap. Across from me on the wall was a large rectangular mirror. As I stared at the reflected image of myself, I had the bizarre feeling of being watched, almost ethereally, as if the reflective glass was storing an image of me. Inquisitive, but un-phased, I resumed my duty of opening the sole present bequeathed to me by this inexplicable residence. I poised myself to grab the bow and tug it off, slowly removing the ribbon and peeling back the top of the container to peer inside…

I blinked my eyes, startled, as if abruptly awakening from a particularly gripping nightmare. I was sitting in my dimly lit living room, alone and empty handed. Unsure of what had just transpired, I resigned myself to bed and fell into a deep slumber almost immediately. Later, I would learn from my friends that I had left the bar on my own and none of them could find me and knew nothing of my whereabouts for the remainder of the evening. They speculated that I had caught a cab home straightaway and fallen asleep. That was an easy explanation, and I think that I should not tell them about the mystifying pictures I found the following day on the sofa in the room I awoke in. The pictures of me in my party dress, sitting on a strange, deeply aged couch in the middle of a barren, grimy room holding a large, pristine present in my lap…

see full size in gallery below

“The highest of all holidays in the Satanic religion is the date of one’s own birth. Every man is a god if he chooses to recognize himself as one. So, the Satanist celebrates his own birthday as the most important holiday of the year. Despite the fact that some of us may not have been wanted, or at least were not particularly planned, we’re glad, even if no one else is, that we’re here! You should give yourself a pat on the back, buy yourself whatever you want, treat yourself like the king (or god) that you are, and generally celebrate your birthday with as much pomp and ceremony as possible.”- Anton LaVey

Inspiration List: Estigmas (the Z-grade Spanish post-Apocalyptic fetishistic Nazi-sploitation film by Jose Bravo & J. Luis Martinez ), finding practical use for my extravagantly fancy Salon Du Pop ballgown, Hello Kitty children’s birthday thotchke, the delicious juxtaposition of gas masks worn with party dresses, sharing past experiences of fun with hallucinogens , abandoned buildings, turning 28 on January 22nd and celebrating my favorite Satanic Holiday of the year.

Whoever said that gas masks and glamour are mutually exclusive obviously hasn’t seen the bling encrusted and Louis Vuitton-logo-emblazoned conceptual “High Fashion Protection” pieces conceived by Diddo Velema. While Velema’s bizarre designer breathing apparatus appears to be a tongue-in-cheek reaction to “our collectively insatiable culture of consumption”, my own coupling of gas masks and ballgowns is completely devoid of any underlying political innuendo. It’s merely an ode to unconventional pairings of metallic frocks that would be most at home at a Martian senior prom, post-Apocalyptic survival gear, and playful child-like accessories.

Alas, sometimes our best laid plans (such as dropping acid in a haunted house) should remain confined to the realm of a controlled environment for sanity’s sake. The “Ominous Birthday Princess” getup looks simply darling at a photoshoot or a music video, and it will easily seize the imagination of any live audience member at a stage performance. However, certain fantasy-based stylistic statements won’t translate all that well in a club environment, mostly due to the fact that gas masks tend to be face-meltingly hot, and wearing one for an extended period of time without being overcome with the distinct feeling of drowning in your own perspiration can prove to be quite challenging. Unless you’ve got an actual sudden chemical warfare emergency on your hands and preventing toxic irritants from liquefying your eyes is your new number one priority, you’ll probably want to tear the fucking thing off in under an hour. And the sweaty aftermath? If you don’t mind oozing salty fluid out of every pore, go on and live out your dream of becoming the human sauna. But when your friends suddenly flee the scene to “wash their hair” or “call their grandma” at 1:00 am on Saturday night, well – don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Silver Belle

Vanity’s take on birthday girl glam:

• Salon Du Pop 14-71 “Marquise Gown” and matching 14-70 “Flaunt and Flattery Shrug“ in the silver/black colorway shimmer with the otherworldly inapproachability of a garb fit for an entity which exists solely outside of the common man’s perception of reality. The more LSD-laced tiki drinks one consumes, the greater their chance of catching a glimpse of her on the physical plane.
• Purple and black petticoat to further amp up the volume of the lavishly decorated Salon Du Pop Marquise Gown, adding considerably more “pomp and ceremony” to the party. Trust me, LaVey would’ve wanted it this way.
• To avoid getting mistaken for your own birthday cake, balance out the proportions of the billowing lace-trimmed sleeves of the shrug and the multi-layered floor length skirt with the addition of a black waist cincher. It will take the “foofy” quotient down a notch.
• Clinical trials have proven that 10 out of 10 times gas masks looked more legit/creepy/”industrial” than the respirators , dust masks and silly so called “surgical masks” that cyber kids can’t seem to live without. (Read my extended anti-respirator-as-fashion-accessory rant here)
• Purple sparkly Hello Kitty tiara
• ”Birthday Girl” award ribbon pin. Because I’m the guest of honor, bitches. And no force in the universe will stop me from obnoxiously announcing it with my attire.

Learn how to insert falls here.

A happy birthday to me(it’s this Saturday, so you still have a chance to get me something!) and to all a good night

[Show as slideshow]

Credits

Photography: Bill Tracy Photography

Model:Vanity Kills

Location: Abandoned house in Montague, NJ

<3

Vanity Kills

For this fashion-crazed style blogger, 2010 was all about Giger-inspired prints, reach-for-the-sky strong shoulder accented silhouettes (Cyber Sniper, Das Bunker) and an excess of pinks (cotton candy, magenta, and neon-OH MY!)

As far as “the scene” is concerned, I believe pink became the new black sometime circa 1998, which not-so-oddly coincided with Marilyn Manson going through his Mechanical Animals phase. Outwardly ripping off David Bowie’s 70s glam-rock androgynous alien alter ego, Ziggy Stardust, seemed to produce an interesting trickledown effect. As if overnight, a new breed of “glam goth” surfaced, seemingly out of nowhere. You better believe that the very hordes of black-clad teens who’d scoff at the mere mention of pink just a month or so prior, declaring it unfit to wear for anyone who wasn’t a “prep”, started to sport fuchsia feather boas draped around their necks. The look was in no way complete without a heavy helping of good old-fashioned denial upon being questioned about the sudden change of heart (“Pink? I’ve been rocking that shit for years”). It goes without saying that just about every self professed “glam goth” would rather die than cite Marilyn Manson as a style influence. I know I’d publicly announce to anyone within earshot that “My look was heavily influenced by Switchblade Symphony” (Despite Switchblade Symphony’s signature ensembles being more “babydoll” than “glam”). Given the fact I’m turning 28 next month, it’s safe to say I am fully capable of looking back and finding endless amusement in the folly of my “gother-than-thou” youth. Oh, to be 16 again and think coupling pink with black was the ultimate fashion forefront.

“Glam Goths” came and went (it wasn’t long before the retina-hurting bright tribe of cybergoths filled the color void), Manson swelled with coke bloat, and yet the author’s love for this perky shade remained. Some things never change.

Nothing embodies the flamboyant essence of “glam goth” better than Nocturnal Rendezvous Ruffle Shrug in the black/magenta colorway. Princess-like puff sleeves, magenta PVC ruffles adorned with black lace overlay and ribbon detailing make for the most ultimate “Look-at-me-I’m-high-maintenance“ accompaniment to all those slinky New Year’s Eve Party gowns. Not exactly a garment built for comfort, but “glam goths” tend to attribute such things to those with more plebeian tastes. These vainglorious creatures are far more concerned with reeling in praise for their wardrobe choices :)

I love Space Age nostalgia. Yesterday’s tomorrow populated the collective minds of mid-century masses with visions of a high-tech utopia yet to materialize: Hover cars, colonizing the moon, traveling to far off galaxies and mating with hot space aliens. Not to mention the sex robots! Since NONE OF THIS will happen in my lifetime, I’ll have to settle for attiring myself in retro-futuristic pieces straight out of Judy Jetson’s closet, like this Cyber Sniper Skylab Zip Front Jacket in the black/neon pink colorway. Excuse me while my bubblegum hued pointy-shouldered jacket and I continue to long for “the future that never was”.

Adding a grimly dystopian touch to your casual get-ups without going full on Road Warrior is easier than you think. With their unmistakably Giger-esque flair, Erotomechanics Printed Leggings paired with a basic black or grey sweater dress make for a no-nonsense (yet still surprisingly high impact) day look.

Don’t let winter give you the cold shoulder! Stay stylishly warm indoors by layering the Erotomechanics Cropped Jacket over your favorite tank or tee. Swap your usual bulky sweatshirt for this sexy biomechanical wrapper and look just as hot watching Alien all cuddled up on the couch with your boy as you do tearing it up at the club when a good old school Hocico track comes on.

Action Shot:

My friend Lisa and I attired in our matching Erotomechanics Cropped Jackets at a Worms of the Earth show at Club Orpheus in Baltimore, MD. Since the photo is cut off at the waist, you can’t see that we wore matching Erotomechanics Printed Leggings and Oil Spill Skirts with Zip Front Garter and Pouch as well.

The Lolita Candy Snap Front Neck Collar in the black/pink colorway can really doll up an otherwise unnotable solid color button down, add a pinch of sweetness to a black lace blouse or freshen up a close-fitting spaghetti strap camisole. Or try it as a fun, fashionable alternative to a traditional scarf (though that’ll only work if your winters are more San Franciscan than Buffalonian).

Action Shot:

Photo by: Eye of Ra

I have made previous mention of indulging in mainstream fashion magazines on a rather regular basis. It’s no secret to consumers of women’s interest periodicals the content has the tendency to recycle itself fairly often. Statistically, there’s a very high probability of animal print being showcased in some form just about every year. Fishnet tends to make the rounds more infrequently, but it is known to make cyclical guest appearances every few seasons in fall fashion issues.

Let me note how much I do so love the borderline Puritan styling advice which usully accompanies either leopard print or fishnet (most glossy women’s rags hold the conviction only a lady who gets paid-by-the hour would dare to wear the two together) in the spreads featuring them. It’s always “For a classy take on this vixen staple, pair beige fishnets with long pants, leaving just a tiny flash of ‘netted ankle exposed” (thought this is fine advice for the corporate environment, but no fun for real life), “Fishnets and pumps are a surefire way to get mistaken for a streetwalker” and “To tone down the trampiness of leopard; limit the print to a sassy scarf or wild wrist candy coupled with understated separates in a neutral color palette”. I find it thoroughly hilarious.

I for one delight in the notion of taking trashy to the next level in my Lip Service Hosiery Leopard Fishnet Tights. Might even go the extra mile and don ‘em with my Trash Mini Skirt with Side Lacing and leopard print underbust corset. Rumor has it we tacky tramps have more fun ;)

I’m not going to tell you how incredibly exquisite the Blacklist Princess Tears Longsleeved Blouse is, because you can see it for yourself. What I will tell you is I spent an embarrassingly long amount of time trying to properly categorize the sleeves as either Juliet or Leg o’ Mutton. After my research left me with inconclusive data and a question still unanswered, I have determined them to be hybrid Leg o’ Juliet sleeves. Obviously coming up with a new and ridiculous classification used exclusively to identify parts of garments I don’t even own yet is the only way my brain will attain some semblance of peace, thus granting me the ability to successfully move on to other parts of this blog :)

Circuit City Zip Front Hooded Jacket in the black/neon green colorway turns synthesized glamour into an art form. The circuitry’s connotations of exposed android entrails, sexiness through artifice and strategically exposed flesh are all the things which initially attracted me to cybergoth nearly 10 years ago. Before it mutated into a hot rave mess. Personally, I’d forego the mask and goggles.

Will definitely pack this for my annual Kinetik pilgrimage.

Just because you’ve had the misfortune of spotting them on select overdramatic 14-year old Emilie Autumn fangirls (and no, I don’t get the hype around EA either), don’t be so quick to dismiss bloomers as a whole. Let it be known Lolita Candy Elastic Pants with Ribbon Trim in the black/pink colorway make for some seriously yummy sleepwear.

Sharp-peaked shoulder silhouette, epaulets and silver piping give the Das Bunker Cap Sleeve Top in the black/gun metal colorway a decidedly futuristic militant flavor. Matter of fact, I wore it out this past Saturday night and my boyfriend pointed out my shirt was reminiscent of something “space police” would wear. Space police? I’ll RSVP to THAT party :)

I think I’m gonna need a fabulous black military wedge hat with reflective piping accents to complete the outfit.

And this concludes my personal Top 10 of 2010. I don’t know about you, but I’m already itching to see what Spring, Summer, Fall, and Holiday 2011 have to offer!

<3

Vanity Kills

Since its inception in 2009, Lethal Style has certainly seen more than a fair share of slasher stories paired with The Orginal Cult’s most killer threads. After all, the very name of this style blog basically spells it out for the readers. Over the past year, the characters you’ve read about here disposed of clueless club kids in Cellar Heat, bathed in model blood in Hotel Bathory, and put some rednecks on the business end of a hook in The Reaper. With the occasional shrunken head, chupacabra, and bear on PCP aboard an airplane thrown in the mix for good measure.

I’m thankful for my Lippy webmasters Mich and Jim for giving me the opportunity to flesh out all the crazy ideas spawned within the bowels of my “that bitch ain’t right” imagination. I’m thankful for Dan, my boyfriend, who mostly took over the fiction writing, so I could focus my ADD riddled brain on the meat of the matter — styling and long-winded fashion rants. I’m thankful for each and every photographer who helped to bring my twisted/hilarious/just plain bizarre visions to life. I’m thankful for the friends who became willing victims for my cause (a.k.a. guest models) and for every faithful assistant comrade who carried lights from the photographer’s vehicle onto location. Last but not least, I’m certainly thankful for a certain Los Angeles based clothing retailer, whose gear made all these sartorial shenanigans possible.

I dedicate November’s cornfield-n-machete splatterfest to you all.

Story by Dan Barrett.

The farm was just as it had appeared in the pictures. Fairly dilapidated and half eaten by weeds & rust, but still manageable as living quarters. It was a far cry from the place I remembered as a child, but it should be sufficient. After years of slogging away in office buildings in the city; filing papers, sending faxes, completing menial database consolidation, and ultimately realizing that nearly every waking moment was spent being a slave to our continuously evolving technology, I decided the only way for me to properly continue living was to escape it all. So, I sold my apartment in the midst of the metropolis and sought to buy the farmland my family had owned when I was born. Though the place had been in the family for generations, it had stopped being a useful source of revenue in the days of my early youth and consequently was sold so we could move to an urban area, where better-paying jobs flourished. There I had remained for the better part of eighteen years, learning the ways of the populous and becoming ingrained in the fast-paced society, learning to live and die by the clock. I had succeeded by the criteria of that world, but success did little to lead me from despair. And so, here I was at last, reclaiming the soil of my hard-working forefathers.

The place was highly removed from the population I had known; it was nearly an hour to a city of any notable size, and an impressive twenty minutes outside of what could generously be called a town. The roads leading to it were hardly even paved. It was a good, fortress-like, abode constructed not with outward splendor, but solely with functionality; combined with the beauty of the un-tread earth and nearby deciduous forests, it was the ideal haven for a deserter of society.

It took me only a matter of days to clean up the house enough to comfortably reside there. The place was mostly abandoned, and needed a number of repairs to be restored to basic functioning living quarters. I survived on sustenance I had bought in town while I worked to uncover the long dormant fields. All of them were long deceased and entombed by weed and rock. All, that is, except for one area. There was a cornfield which seemed to have, oddly, been kept up through the years. It was mid autumn, mere days before Thanksgiving, and the corn stalks were a brownish golden hue, in the final stages of decay, but it was clear this field had not been left to perish like the other plots. It was bizarre, but I deduced a rational explanation for it in my head. Despite my lineage, I knew very little about crop growing, so I chalked it up to some form of seed that replenishes itself yearly with little additional maintenance. If only I had been right…

For a while, the days and nights were generally uneventful. I worked on planting seeds when I could; I was hoping to figure out the art of pumpkin growing for the holidays. After dark I sometimes heard strange rustling coming from corn, but I inferred the cause was simply wind, birds, or perhaps ground-dwelling mammals, such as moles or rabbits, and dismissed it. One day, a few weeks after moving into the farmhouse, I was walking through the cornfield to understand its true breadth and depth. After a couple minutes of wandering betwixt this seemingly endless sea of rotten stalks and leaves, I came upon an extraordinary opening where the corn seemed to have been trampled, perhaps not unlike a crop circle! I could not fathom the necessity of such a thing. Unfortunately, my pondering was halted suddenly by what sounded like the crunch of heavy footsteps over the debris. I gradually turned counter clockwise and saw them close in around me. There were several, perhaps eight of them in total. Peculiar and deformed folk, they were wearing raggedy clothing and smelling rank, like old carrion fermented in mud. Some were carrying rusted weapons, and some just had horrible hook-like fingers. I hadn’t heard any reports of crazed mountain folk in this area but, then again, people HAD been quite reluctant to talk about why no one resided on the farm, nor why it had been so cheap. The things seemed to be oblvious to common language, and spoke sporadically in gruff, harsh tones resembling no language with which I was familiar. They closed in around me until escape was beyond hope. At that point a woman, who appeared to be their commander, appeared from the veil of obsolete vegetation. This being was more put together than the rest of them, many times over; it wore all black with stockings and terrifying heeled shoes. It had some sort of torture or suffocation device on its face, wild red hair and brandished a machete. It motioned to the group, at which point they barreled inward toward me and I was rapidly seized. My senses were gone from me for what I had hoped was only a short while, but of that I cannot be certain. When I awoke, there was only blackness around me. Though I could only feel its cold, slimy innards, the group had prepared me for some sort of archaic ritual by crudely grafting a pumpkin onto my head. They had used an unknown heat source to melt the flesh around my shoulders and neck, somewhat effectively binding it to the pumpkin’s outer husk. They had also burned my chest into an unrecognizable pool of blood and dripping gore. I felt nothing but smoldering pain and choking abysmal darkness in my new head. I screamed, steeped in agony, but the sound was deeply muffled and did little beyond causing painful reverberations. My body was being held down by an unseen force and there was little chance of fleeing or responsive action. Much to my chagrin, the ritual required my face also be butchered. I came to this epiphany when I saw thin slits of light appear in what had been my solid black mask. They were identifying the eye holes and, soon after, the knife came down full force on my face. The little I saw past that was marinated in sticky fluid red. She continued to cut up both of my faces, letting my blood leak through onto the pumpkin, running down its length and dripping onto the soil below. Through the pain I could hear them, distantly, chanting. I understood now. This group of miscreants was sitting down for Thanksgiving, and this was their opening prayer. They were giving thanks to the earth for providing for them and offering up a blood sacrifice as proof of their recognition. Perhaps it was due to my delusional state, but I swore I could hear the cawing of turkeys as they paraded around the area. After I had exsanguinated, my body was left, half buried, on the field; it was to provide the nutrients and life to the following year’s crop. Next to my stiffened corpse they left a plate of turkey, mashed potatoes and a husk of corn.

Psychos n’ Pumpkins

Inspiration list: Bad holiday themed 80’s slasher flicks, modern Z-grade Thanksgiving-themed horror centering around animatronic killer turkeys (seriously, check out Thankskilling), Suicide Commando’s music and Johan’s perennial fascination with the black shirt/red tie combo, creepy cornfields, autumn, mass murderers in impractical, alas fashionable, apparel (not an uncommon theme here at Lethal Style), GORE (I just can’t get enough), the backwoods cannibal redneck horror subgenre and over-the-mouth neck corsets.

In a fucked-up nutshell, it is the dysfunctional marriage of a psychotic machete-wielding hick and a well-dressed quasi-fetish-esque female Patrick Bateman (minus the yuppie bullshit). Set in NJ’s finest cornfields to the tune of Suicide Commando’s Construct/Destruct. All wrapped in a pretty package of seasonal blood and guts. Happy Holidays to you too ;)

Never underestimate the power of basics: a well fitted dress shirt (such as the New Model Army LS Insignia Military Shirt, your soon-to-be wear-to-death favorite), a trusty pencil skirt and a pair of “I-can’t-possibly-fuck-my-outfit-up-by-wearing-these” opaque black tights.

Stressin’ about lookin’ like a spinster bankteller? Supplement with shoes which show blatant disregard for comfort of any kind and neckwear which eliminates all notions of subtlety.

Indeed, life is vastly improved by footwear equipped with a heel and platform which closely resemble a marvel of modern architecture. Crossing the street is no longer something you do on auto pilot. In these shoes, it’s an adventure.

Note: If you plan on wearing them in an actual cornfield, I hope you have some damn good health insurance. If you don’t, then marry someone that does. While they’re not quite the McQueen Armadillo 12 inchers, strapping these on with the purpose of trespassing about a stranger’s cornfield with the intent of taking spooky photos in mind will hurt you just the same. In that aspect, cornfields are the great equalizer. Outside the realm of agricultural acreage, I feel like the world is mine for the taking when parading about town in these sexy hunks of metal. It also makes me wish I had seen day shift strippers from Iowa throw these at each other on Jerry Springer.

This time of year, we’re urged to express our thankfulness to Jesus, our fucked up families, and some other wholesome-sounding shit totally unrelated to your ancestors killing off Indians. I find it to be a slippery slope, since Jesus wants me to be nice to people I don’t like and my family drives me to drink. Perhaps, if you dissolve some Valium in a double vodka cranberry-tini, thanking the aforementioned parties will start sounding more plausible, alas; until then, I’m gonna go ahead and give praise to my true God: The Almighty Corset. It has this magical ability to nip the middle just right, assist a girl in the waist-to-hip ratio department, and create a magnificent rack out of seemingly thin air. I show my gratitude by wearing these Godsend garments year ’round just about everywhere I go. Overindulged in Aunt Ruth’s stuffing and pecan pie? The boning and strings will absolve you from guilt, my child. And spare you from being mistaken for a balloon in Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade.

Tie the whole ensemble together (see what I did there) with a zero budget accessory “borrowed” from your boyfriend (or brother’s) closet.

Celebrate carnage with bloodstained latex gloves.

While I hate to state the obvious, go for disposable examination gloves. You’ll hate yourself forever if you fuck up a cute fingerless bow adorned pair you paid like $65 for on the Internets. It’s a “use once and destroy” kind of deal here, folks.

On the style evolutionary scale, over-the-mouth neck corsets zoom past the dust masks and respirators cyber kids love so fucking much at light speeds. Leaving the dust masks where they belong: in a plastic bag hanging off a peg at the Dollar Tree. You see, neck corsets are considered to be bona fide clothing. Granted, they’re classed as “fetishwear” and can double as a punitive device within BDSM circles, but there’s still no mistaking them for home improvement attire. No matter how many spikes one hot glues onto a respirator, they still manage to look like they’re gearing up to paint a house. Sadly, looks like Ext1ze missed the memo (if you don’t get that reference consider yourself, very very lucky).

Earlier today I had a dentist hovering over me while sporting a light blue dust mask. Presumably it served to protect his face from the delicious mixture composed primarily of cement, tooth and blood spraying out of my mouth. While I do consider people of this profession to be sadistic and predatory by nature, not once did I think he looked like a cool, evil cyborg from the future. You don’t look like one either. And that, my friend, is why I’m on Team Neck Corset. Clearly the winning team.

Bonus points: You’re free from the tedious process of re-applying your lipstick all night long.

Bonus points: The Redux: That 60 year old dude, whose rockstar dreams haven’t given up the ghost yet, won’t drone on to you about his go nowhere band that plays synthpop covers of shit that was popular before you were born. Your selective mutism ploy will finally work!

Warning: You’ll be forced to find new and creative ways to get plastered. But as they say: If there’s a will, there’s a way!

For a family friendly, Thanksgiving-dinner-appropriate take on the getup pictured above:

• Stick with the shirt, skirt and tights.
• Remove shoes, falls, both corsets, bloody gloves.
• Pair with a plain black vest.
• Keep the tie! It will easily camouflage the pyramid stud buttons.
• Dust off those black 2” heels you usually save for job interviews. Surely you must have pair within the recesses of your closet.
• Don’t be so quick to put away that machete. You never know when your batshit crazy uncle will get into the scotch and start waxing poetic about all the sexy things he’d like to do to Sarah Palin over dessert.

Your relatives should be used to you wearing all this black by now.

I’ve discussed the fine art of dreadfall insertion on many occasions. This was one of them.

Guts n’ Gourds

Nothing warms the cockles of one’s bloodthirsty heart quite like torture and depravity, eh?

Here’s how I made a mess out of Dan.

Texture (looks great for burn victims too).

You Will Need:

Two ply toilet paper, Liquid latex(or school glue if you’re poor like me after spending a hell lot of money at the dentist), Petroleum jelly, Paint brushes, Red/black acrylic paint.

1. Rip toilet paper into individual squares.
2. Cover the back with adhesive of choice.
3. Adhere to desired area of exposed skin.
4. Cover the top layer of the TP with latex or school glue.
5. Repeat until the area you wish to cover resembles a toilet paper mummy. Note: Don’t leave any gaps between the bathroom tissue squares. Overlapping is key.
6. Keep busy until that shit dries. It usually takes between 30 to 45 minutes.
7. Create a mixture of 1/3 petroleum jelly 2/3 paint. Use dark colors like black/red/maroon etcetera.
8. Using a medium sized paintbrush, stipple the paint/petroleum jelly concoction onto your toilet paper mache masterpiece.

Assorted Viscera

You Will Need:

Oatmeal, red food coloring, corn starch, corn syrup, water

Combine one tablespoon of cornstarch, 2 teaspoons of water, 6 drops of red food coloring, half a teaspoon of corn syrup in a decently sized mixing bowl. Add as little or as much oatmeal as you want, since that’s the magical ingredient responsible for creating the curdled blood/clumps of ickiness effect. Apply liberally.

Fun Fact: The pumpkin on Dan’s head weighed 35 pounds.

Credits:

Photography: Bill Tracy Photography

Female Model: Vanity Kills

Male Model: Dan Barrett

Location: Coyote infested cornfield in Montague, NJ.

<3

Vanity Kills

[Show as slideshow]

Fact! People like dressing up for Halloween. Fact! People like taking quizzes on the Internet. I have come to this conclusion since I block TONS of them from my Facebook feed on a daily basis. They’re poorly written by kids aged somewhere in the neighborhood of 16, they don’t apply to me (Sorry, but I don’t have a favorite Evanescence song), and hello, backdoor viruses anyone? Frankly, I don’t really need to display someone’s stolen picture or an Amy Brown fairy graphic on my page that badly. I mean, for Christ’s sake, you really don’t know “What minuscule subdivision of any given scene that you self identify with” you allegedly belong to by now? You didn’t know you were a “romantigoth” by simply opening your closet doors? I’ve seen people in their 30s post their results and get mad that a quiz told them they were “an emo” or “a prep” instead of “bad ass metal head”. Shit son, me thinks an existential crisis was afoot and that those folks needed more answers than a social networking site app could provide them with.

Alas, sometimes one still doesn’t know just what the fuck they’re going to wear come October 31st a week and a half before the big night. And some are in dire need of a time killer at their 9-to-5 in between dealing with their co-worker’s bullshit. So, I’ve decided to author a little non-Facebook based distraction, designed to throw some costuming ideas in your general direction. No fairy graphics. No backdoor viruses. No promise to reveal the meaning of life.

Obligatory Disclaimer (in case the intro paragraph wasn’t enough): Lethal Style isn’t trying to tell you how to dress, “put you in a box”, nor force you into any high school-esque clique against your will in any shape or form. You’re all unique snowflakes and I would never dream of taking that away from you. This silly little quiz was created for entertainment purposes only and isn’t proven to help you find your identity or cure cancer.

(1) You can have my first, second and third born child if you only bring back:

• A- Rosary’s Garden
• B- The Fashionista Resistance
• C- Rockabilly Rumble
• D- Easy Rider

(2) Ahhh…October. Bonfires, candy corn, cheesy haunted attractions, and people who don’t know any better stocking up on 99 cent black lipstick at their local drugstore. And naturally, the time for a fresh crop of autumnal apparel vying for real estate in the closets of Lippy Addicts all over the world. Which Fall 2010 line were you most psyched about?

• A- Blacklist…duh.
• B- Cyber Sniper
• C- Pin Me Up
• D- Nevermind Fall 2010…give me Python Addiction already!

(3) Typical Satuday night out; your fab self is seizing the night at your alcohol-serving establishment of choice, dressed to the nines, with your equally fashionable crew in tow. Trolling for men isn’t high on the agenda, but you’re willing to make an exception for the right male specimen. Bonus points if he’s wearing a:

• A-Step in Time Dress Coat but always in black, never in brown.
• B- Dead Nation Death in the Arena Military Jacket
• C- A Service T-shirt and a gravity-defying pompadour.
• D- Only a vintage Radioactive Chain Reaction God of Thunder Sleeveless Shallow V Top would do. I love nothing more than seeing a man rock the hell out of a skin tight metallic gold shirt!

(4) Ohmyfuckinggod!You just won Lippy’s Halloween Costume Photo Contest.Gonna put that shiny new $250 gift certificate toward:

• A- A splurge on a Wicked Winter Long Coat with Faux Fur as an “I’m worth it” present to yourself. You’ve earned it by dodging the bait of getting sucked into the latest round of Facebook scene drama.
• B- Stocking up on Circuit City closeouts.Gotta look hot at Kinetik 2011.
• C-Treating thyself to Fall 2010’s select sexy Pin Me Up styles in the red and black colorway, but saving a good chunk of change for winter’s Nocturnal Rendezvous collection. It’s just what you need to spice up your burlesque act.
• D- Buying out every last thing in the lingerie category . You never know-Bret Michaels might just do a fourth season of Rock of Love and if so, you’ll need a winnin’ wardrobe.

(5) Musically you just can’t seem to tire of:

• A- As cliché as it sounds, Bauhaus. You just can’t seem to kick that Murphy habit of yours. You even overlook his most recent “I can’t believe the peoples’ hero guest-starred on Dawson’s Creek with vampires“ fiasco. Peter Murphy in Twilight? Nope never happened.
• B- Tactical Sekt
• C- Zombie Ghost Train
• D-RATT

(6) Holy shit! Somehow after a night of Jager-fueled debauchery you magically manage to travel back in time to 2005. You wake up naked next to a handsome stranger, not entirely sure if the reality currently unfolding before you is nothing more than an elaborate hallucination. You opt to ask questions at a later date, since your initial train of thought is that you’ll only be able to make some semblance of sense out of this clusterfuck once your body has been properly dosed with caffeine. But first you must retrieve your crumpled up garments located somewhere on his bedroom floor. What are you looking for?

• A- Flowers of Evil Ballgown
• B- Air Raid Sirens Ruffle Mini Skirt in Camo (with a Skinny Puppy patch haphazardly pinned to the side)
• C- Greaser Seduction Chick’s Capri Pant
• D- Lyck my Lycra Off the Shoulder Dress

(7) Fast forward to New Year’s Eve 2011. Survey says you’re most likely to be found at:

• A- An invite-only masked costume gala adorned in a metric ton of ruffles, black lace and a cameo carefully pinned to the collar of your blouse.
• B- Yelling at the DJ at the local club for only playing new Wumpscut. Who does that guy think he is? He needs to get the fuck out of *your* scene.
• C- The annual Old Hollywood with Zombies themed swing dance. Not a hair out of place.
• D- Dropping acid to the tune of a Whitesnake cover band.

(8) Your well connected fairy Godmother allows you to raid the wardrobe closet of any Hollywood production you want. You’re practically bursting at the seams with excitement at the mere prospect of being able to wear:

• A- Winona Ryder’s decadent red bustle ballgown from Bram Stoker’s Dracula. It’s pretty much haunted your dreams on a nightly basis since 1992.
• B- Leeloo Dallas’ iconic barely there white bandage ensemble from The Fifth Element (Your singular desire is to live in Hollywood circa 1997’s version of the future!)
• C- Elsa Lanchester’s gauzy getup in 1935’s Bride of Frankenstein. But only if you can take some scissors to it! It’s a fine frock, but it certainly calls for an updated, slightly more deconstructed edge. Your look is that more of the Bride after a bar fight.
• D- Fuck Tinseltown! A female version of Metalocalypse’s Dr. Rockzo would be fucking hilarious! You already have the 8-ball to go with it.

(9) Besides your smart phone (obviously), keys, a pack of gum and wallet you feel naked without:

• A- An authentic Victorian mourning brooch
• B- A circuitboard necklace
• C- Skeleton hand hair slides
• D-Your lucky leopard print bra

(10) The most blood pressure raising rumor regarding your personal life you’ve had the displeasure encountering, within the realms of the cesspool known as the Internet, stated that you:

• A- Look this way due to pop culture’s obsession with vampires
• B- Are a raver
• C- Apparently trying to be just like Bettie Page due to an interest in cheesecake modeling
• D- Got hepatitis from Tommy Lee

Now tally that shit up, see which letter was the most prevalent and scroll down for the obvious answer.

A – Goth with a Capital-fucking-G

You enshrouded yourself in layers of black tulle petticoats and funerary lace when those fucking kids ruining all your clubs with their Combichrist requests were nothing but a glimmer in the eyes of two intoxicated rednecks in the back of a Camarro. You die on the inside just a tiny bit any time that a mallgoth bedecked in chains, spikes and an oversized “I <3 vampires” T-shirt engages you in conversation under the guise that you two have something ... in common. Favorite past-times include: smoking the now contraband cloves, pining for the good old days and sneering at those clueless cybergoths. You wish that the rave scene would reclaim those goddamn human highlighters since it’s clearly where they belong.

Costume Suggestions

Dandy Vampire a’la my friend Meagan Kyla in Fetish Aristocracy, because let’s face it, you probably already have something similar in your closet.

Celebrate your campy side with the flirtatious flair of a Horror Hostess. It’s not like you haven’t been compared to Vampira or Elvira in the past. You know what they say, if the shoe fits…Peruse El Chupacabra for styling ideas.

[Show as slideshow]

B – Industrial/Cyber Dancefloor Dictator

Drink hard, dance harder! Sissy goths best get out of the way, or get their asses stomped back to 1985. You have no time for Andrew Eldritch’s whiny, self-serving pretentious bullshit when there are Engrish songs about WAR to be danced to. When not beating the beat, you create your own music in your home studio. The best things in life consist of: World War II documentaries on the TV, Ogre on the Ipod and William Gibson on the bookshelf.

Costume Suggestions

Zombie Nurse- Industrial music and medical fetish go together like Chris Hansen and sexual predators. Zombies go with absolutely everything at all times. Try a Looks That Kill Naughty Nurse Mini Dress and just add gore.

If the idea of wearing a nurse dress on Halloween feels just too sorority skank-esque for your discerning taste, perhaps you’ll find that giving the zombification treatment to militant apparel to be more up your alley. Check out Meagan’s take on soldier chic in Kommandante Kyla for inspiration. Then apply blood, guts, and fake half-eaten brain matter liberally.

Cyber Geisha(as seen in Exit Ritual)- Because flailing kimono sleeves will hit those foolish enough to dance close to you in the face. I speak from experience. If you value your dancefoor space, this can prove to be advantageous.

[Show as slideshow]

C – Something or other “a-billy”

Somewhere between Morticia Addams and a Stepford Wife lies a vintage enthusiast with a soft spot for spooky, whimsical kitsch. You know that cleavers serve a dual purpose; preparing a delicious, hearty meal for your loving family and fucking a hooker up if they get out of line. Pinups, classic cars (or better yet, classic hearses), burlesque, swapping cookie recipes, stiff tiki drinks and B-movie 1950’s shlock horror are the hallmark of a fulfilling existence.

Costume Suggestions

Sassy Sailor– Because who doesn’t want a hot boy waiting for them in every port?

Fly the friendly skies in sultry stewardess style featured in Mile High Club.Perfect for gals who want shy away from leg-baring cuts without sacrificing their sex appeal.

Hosting your own Samhain soiree? Have you thought of playing the part of the homicidal hausfrau, my friend Meagan portrayed in Shrunken Heads for All Occassions.

[Show as slideshow]

D – Hair Metal Harlot Extraordinaire

Paris and Lindsay could learn a thing or two about partying from you. Never one to be deterred by jealous haters, you proudly embrace the “You only live once” philosophy closely followed by “There’s plenty of time to sleep when you’re dead”. In your world there’s no such thing as a heel too high, a skirt too short or hair too voluminous.

Costume Suggestions

Kelly Bundy

You will need:

• 25 Years Off The Shoulder Dress
• Teasing comb and plenty of Aqua Net for that perfect 80′s cock rock groupie rat’s nest
• Push up bra
• Fuck me pumps or Lucite stripper heels

“Shout at the Devil”( Crüe or GTFO)

[Show as slideshow]

Happy Haunting!

<3

Vanity Kills

Tonight’s schlock-tastic creature feature was brought to you by my spiky haired co-conspirator Dan Barrett.

There is a pretty well-known legend around these parts. You’re reading this so I guess you probably want to know what it is. Well, it ain’t so much a legend as it is a happening, but we likes to call it a legend so as to not scare the tourist folk.

It all started a year ago when a few goats went missing from the Peterson farm. We thought it was nothing, some stray coyotes or what have you, but then more livestock started disappearing. Six months passed and two dozen farms had been hit by this, uh, “epidemic” as some might put it. It had the whole town befuddled until one day, when a goat’s body turned up. Six months of nothin’ and then a damn dead goat out of nowhere?

That’s pretty darn odd.

And to make things weirder, there were no signs of foul play, save for a small hole in the neck. None of us had ever seen anything like it. But slowly, more and more animal carcasses were found, and they all bore the same mark. The body was perfectly intact, except for that one tiny puncture. It was all pretty freaky-deaky until some travelers from Puerto Rico came to town some weeks later and told us about a monster they had encountered down their way: the Chupacaba.

Now, they tell me the name literally means “goat sucker” and I guess that makes sense. This thing evidently just sucked the goddamned life right out of our goats. Anywho, they also told us, according to their legends of the Chupacabra, it has two small arms with a three-fingered clawed hand on each, two strong, almost reptilian, hind legs, again with claws, and quills down its back, which it uses to fly. Its head is oval in shape, similar to one of them “grey aliens”, with terrifying protruding red eyes and an elongated jaw. They informed us the way the Chupacabra kills is with a long telescopic device protruding from its fangs, and this makes a perfectly round puncture wound in the victim…

We all agreed the killin’ part hit close to home, but I’ll be damned if that first demon-looking part didn’t sounds a little wonky. And no one in town would have believed a word of it either; that is, until old Mrs. Perkins saw the thing. Mrs. Perkins is old, go figur’, and rumored to be in the early stages of senility (No real debate there, if you ask me, but I guess you didn’t.) but she swears up and down to all things holy she saw the exact creature the tourists described, more or less. Except she declared it had the head of a woman, with blood red hair and long fangs (Uh, like I said, senile). She said it snatched one of her billy goats in its talon-like clawed feet and flew off into the trees when she chased it away with her broom. For the most part, we simple folk believed her; her not being one to lie and all.

So, the other day, we decided we wanted to catch this varmint once and for all. We did what any gun-toting, god-fearing people would do: we planned a stake-out at the ol’ Perkins farm. We herded most of the town’s collection of goats and miscellaneous four-legged creatures that produce meat to the field behind her barn and, for several nights, had groups of us waiting around the edge of the place, in different locations, with pitchforks and cages, waiting for the beast to show its telltale hell-spawned red eyes.

On the third night, the fiend finally materialized. It swooped down out of the shadows like a demonic bat from hell (you seen that Meatloaf cover? JUST LIKE THAT, and I swear it on my name), eyes of fire gazing out of its pale skull. It hungered for warm flesh, but on this night it would not have it; the trap was already set. At the sound of the whistle, we exploded from our stations, a furious mob whose goal was to seek vengeance for the dead. The creature fled in haste back through the woods, and we proceeded to give chase on foot. My two companions and I held our pitchforks to the sky as we hunted it; some of the other men had lit torches to provide light and to extend a charring welcome to the beast, should they be the first to meet it.

We remained in pursuit for perhaps a half-mile before the thing was finally cornered in an opening in the woods. The ‘cabra was fierce, and it bore its glistening fangs as we kept it at bay with our array of sharp sticks and tools. It was a terrible beast indeed, and the description given to us by the unsavory travelers was somewhat accurate. It had a dark, almost reptilian appearance, but oddly its head and face were similar to that of an eastern European woman, but with giant, rounded horns atop it. But let me tell you, those incisors and opticals were straight out of a damn Dracula novel. As bizarre as it seemed to any of us, we collectively realized that this was an honest to god, real life chupacabra and not just one of them coyotes with advanced stages of mange!

We had to catch it so we could sell it to science and get some money for beer and guns. When cornered, the thing seemed to almost be afraid of humans, and it didn’t attack us freely as it did with the sheep and goats. Maybe the smell of our hillbilly blood was too foul, or too full of moonshine. In any case, one of the boys threw a stone at the sucker and it started screechin’ and becoming violent. It picked up a fallen stick and started slashing at anything in its path. It knocked Jimmy to the wayside and clocked Roger real good; he started bleeding from a gash near his receded hairline. The creature evidently got a whiff of that, and descended upon him, tearing away the remainder of his face. The group was so taken aback we let down our guard just long enough for the monstrosity to scamper off into the abyssal shadows of the nighttime forest.

[Show as slideshow]

We really shouldn’t have let our defense flounder. The attacks on livestock have since diminished, but have not entirely ceased. And the worst part is now, every few days someone goes missing. It seems the creature developed a taste for human blood on that night. May god help us the next time we come face to face with THE CHUPACABRA

September’s installment of Lethal Style celebrates the three Cs: cheese, camp and cleavage! Also to a lesser extent, the curious case of the chupacabra!

The phrase of the day is tongue-in-cheek. It’s used to describe all the blood boilin’, flesh crawlin’, spine tinglin’, spooky kitsch world of horror hosts. Sitting on their Victorian velvet couches, playing with severed heads in a laboratory, and rising out of their cardboard coffins, they were as “gravely disordered” as the mid-century terror flicks they showcased. Most often starring reptiles and insects mutated to gargantuan proportions, thanks to science gone haywire, running amok in the streets. All in fiendishly good fun with a heavy emphasis on camp. Double entendres and tight fighting garments were commonplace for the female hosts, while it was bad puns and pseudo Transylvanian accents and/or mad scientist jargon for the gents.

Vampira set the standard for female horror show hosts with her post-mortem pinup flair. Soon, many would follow in her ghastly footsteps, though none would reach the same commercial success Vampira did. At least not until Elvira made her mark on the entertainment industry as “Mistress of the Dark” in the 1980’s. She’d often display her assets in a manner naysayers could easily classify as vulgar. Alas, the negative connotations related to overtly sexualized female flesh were disarmed with one liners and smart ass over-the-top black humor.

This month we embrace our corny joke crackin’, low cut dress wearin’, B-movie obsessed alter egos named Ghoulia and Kat Aver. We ain’t got shit to prove to the world, because only assholes insecure with their own chosen identity take themselves too seriously. And allow me to take this moment to offer up some of the most immature, but probably empowering, fashion advice ever: Haters gonna hate, it’s their job! So disregard the bullshit and behold the power of cheese.

Plus, those that are honest to “God” true cheeseballs are never this self aware. If you don’t have the ability to laugh at yourself, worry not, everyone else is already doing it for you.

Exhibit A

The guy who wears a claw ring on each finger, a fedora on his head and sports a skull in a jester hat tattoo on his arm. Also owns various permutations of the Three Wolf Moon shirt, not because he really loved that Internet meme and wants to be “ironic” for the sake of sharing a chuckle with his fellow Internet culture obsessed nerd friends. No, he’s an “otherkin” and possesses the soul of a wolf trapped in a human body. You’ll often see him busting his best “come hither” pelvic thrusts when Combichrist’s “This Shit Will Fuck You Up” packs the dancefloor with people that, yet again, don’t know any better. And yes, he always goes home alone. But not before he asks if you want to come over and see his knife collection, while spilling his $3 well drink down your blouse. There are at least 5 in every club.

But Exhibit A will never have the sense to be introspective enough to look inside himself and lighten the fuck up, because he’s a fucking wolf….mmmmkay. And by “wolf” I mean joke. So I guess, what I wanted to say (though apparently I am unable to in under 1,000 words) you can learn to take a joke or become a joke.

And therein lies the difference between “good cheese”(usually of the retro-nostalgia variety) and rotten stinky cheese (usually of the outside of B-movie context trans-specied wolf variety, trying to talk to you about Battlestar Galactica as you’re trying to order a goddamn vodka cranberry).

Stylin’ it up like a late night creature feature hostess ain’t about tryin’ to make tattered spiderweb lace something it’s clearly not (dainty, ladylike or in good taste); it’s about embracing the graveyard trash in you.

So are you ready for some of Lippy’s finest ghoulish garments?

Is that a resounding FUCK YES that I hear?

The 26-119 Webutane Returns Full Length Dress with its open shoulders, dramatic swallowtail sleeves and lace up sides is perfect for slinking down shadowy corridors, candelabra in hand. As a matter of-fact, it could be easily mistaken for a piece straight out of Vampira’s closet.

Your posture and your drinks should be both STIFF! If you’ve caught a glimpse of Vampira’s iconic walk in Plan 9 from Outer Space, you’ll see just what kind of an entrance a rigid stance can make. A posture collar helps to keep your chin up high and neck extended, which pretty much forces you to move like a really elegant corpse. I make it sound enticing, don’t I?

While it might be physically impossible to replicate Vampira’s inhumanly tiny waist, I always have to make a case for corsets. They’re just so “dreary ghoul” (that’s uh, “very cool” in cheesy horror host speak). Did I reach my deliciously bad pun quota yet?

Devil Doll ‘Do

When attiring thyself in a face framing, feathered neck corset, there’s only one place for hair to go. And that’s up. Victory rolls immediately sprung to mind, since this particular retro do is vaguely reminiscent of devil horns by design. And so I deemed such a hairstyle charmingly appropriate for a monster-centric tale. The instructions below are reprinted with permission from Miss Meagan Kyla, my favorite glamour ghoul, Auxiliary Magazine fashion stylist, hat-maker extraordinaire and of course dear friend. She wrote the tutorial on rolls much better than I ever could. I used to force her to do my hair at gunpoint in such a way when we lived across the street from each other in Buffalo, NY. I thought that only her words would do this edition of Lethal Style justice.

You will need:

• Hot rollers -Will give your rolls their proper height and curl. The roundness of the top curls shape the hairstyles and defines the rolls. Meagan recommends hot roller sets that have several sizes of rollers.
• Curl boosting spray- When sprayed onto dry hair, it helps to hold the curls and give them a shiny finish. This product should be lightly sprayed onto the hair before the hot rollers are used. Doing so will protect your hair and give your hairstyle hours of hold.
• Bobby pins- Choosing pins closest to your hair color is preferable. They will be used to secure the rolls on top of your hair and may be visible from certain, odd angles. “Hiding the pins will become an art form with this hairstyle”- says Meagan.
• Hair Spray- Will be used to finish the styling and help smooth fly-away hairs.
• Accessories (optional)-I opted to forego my usually beloved hair flowers, bows and clips, since I chose to wear rather busy neck décor. I might have a soft spot for selective tackiness, but I ain’t tryin’ to look like a damn Christmas tree either.

Note: To get the hair off the back of your neck, try a French Twist.

The Girl Behind the Monsters

Paying homage to great horror hosts of the past certainly doesn’t mean copying them to a T. Plus, the only person I’ve seen get away with Vampira’s super strong, super arched eyebrows was Vampira. Amen!

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

The application technique is identical to August’s Victorian mourning inspired piece Plague Widow albeit presented here in a more autumn appropriate palette of muted gold and lush cranberry.

You will need:

Rounded edge brush, frosted gold eyeshadow, eyeliner brush, chocolate brown eyeshadow, small blending brush, cranberry eyeshadow, small fluffy brush, ivory eyshadow, black eyeliner, black mascara (or falsies)

1. Using a rounded edge brush, apply a frosted gold (you want a shade reminiscent of antique gold rather than in your face BLING BLING gold) eyeshadow across your entire eyelid from lashline to crease.
2. Dab a tiny amount of chocolate brown eyeshadow onto your eyeliner brush and draw a line which follows the natural crease of your eye. Making the line as straight and precise as you can is key! Using the same brush, blend the color outward. This technique is called cutting the crease.
3. With the help of a small blending brush, blend cranberry eyeshadow up and outwards. Make sure to blend the cranberry into the chocolate brown you added to your crease in Step #2 to avoid harsh lines.
4. Highlight your browbone by sweeping some ivory shadow directly under your eyebrows with the help of a small fluffy brush.
5. Line your bottom lid, starting from the outer corner of your eye, slowly making your way toward the inner corner with black kohl eyeliner. Most of the color should be concentrated in the outer corner. I find it’s easiest to put on eyeliner after eyeshadow and before mascara.
6. Curl your eyelashes with an eyelash curler and top off with 2 coats of black mascara. You can add falsies if you feel light paying an extra tribute to Elvira and Vampira’s “creepy peepers”. To do so: Add adhesive to the back of the eyelash strip. Grab a false eyelash with a pair of tweezers and adhere to the outermost part of your eyelids, keeping them as close to your own lashline as possible. You know that they’re in the right place when they’re sitting right on top of your natural lashes. Gently hold them down in place with your finger for about 30 seconds or so until the glue dries.

Cheeks

Vampira’s naturally razor-sharp Scandinavian cheekbones were as barren as a freshly dug grave. Contrary to her pallid predecessor, Elvira did not shy away from bold 80s reddish-fuchsia blush. And your very own ghostess with the mostest, Vanity Kills, prefers a barely there light flush. As if she hardly had any heart beat at all.

You will need:

Apricot blush, blush brush

1. Place a small amount of apricot blush on your blush brush and gently swipe blush starting at the apples of your cheeks up towards your temples. Blend, blend, blend!

Lips

Lips take a backseat as the lids, hair and neckwear hog all the glory and attention.

You will need:

Flesh-toned lipliner, Pinky-peach lipgloss

1. Use a flesh-toned lipliner to fill in your lips, starting at the center of your natural lip line and moving toward the outer corners. Otherwise your lipgloss will run like Lindsay Lohan from a drug test.
2. Finish off with a generous coat of pinky-peach lipgloss. Beginning in the center of your upper lip, gently press the gloss wand into the flesh of your lip and then proceed to roll it over the entire top lip area, working toward the edges. Repeat the process on your bottom lip. Remove any excess product by placing a finger in your mouth, closing your lips around it and then removing the aforementioned finger.

Credits :

Photography: Zach Rose

Model:”Your Ghostly Hostess”/”El Chupacabra”: Vanity Kills

Shot on location in Difficult Run, VA and my apartment in Washington, DC

<3

Vanity Kills

Over a year ago, we decided to try something new. Vanity Kills had been writing a column about love, snark, and where those two things intersect. But we knew, along with her scathing wit, the girl had one killer fashion sense and wicked imagination. So we embarked on a little experiment, not quite certain where it would lead, merging the killer (and often twisted) fiction of Vanity Kills with gorgeous fashion photos of Lip Service gracing the main characters.

Flash forward to today, when you have made Lethal Style one of most popular features of our humble web magazine. We thought, with Ms. Vanity Kills taking a much-deserved week off, we would take a look back at some of the beautiful images which have been a part of one of our favorite Blacklist features.

First up are the stories featuring our Blacklist writer and kickass model, Vanity Kills. The features included (in order of inclusion) are: Jardin Noir, Exit Ritual, In Abandoned Places, The Reaper, Queen of the C.H.U.D., and The Plague Widow. Credits (with links to individual features) are listed below.

[Show as slideshow]

Often, Vanity Kills invites friends and other models to bring her characters to life. Below are features which include or star guest models. The features (in order of inclusion) are: Fetish Aristocracy, Kommendante Kayla, Homewreckin’ Honey, In Abandoned Places 2, Future (I’m)Perfect, Hotel Bathory, MKSEARCH Subproject 55, and Donut Quest. Credits (with links to individual features) are listed below.

Enjoy! Vanity Kills will be back soon with more twisted fiction and photography!

[Show as slideshow]

Credits:

Fetish Aristocracy
Photography:
Aaron Kondziela
Models:
The Duchess –Vanity Kills
The Dandyette-Meagan Kyla

Jardin Noir
Photography:
Jennifer Link
Model:
Vanity Kills

Kommendante Kayla
Photography:
Aaron Kondziela
Model:
Meagan Kyla
Makeup & Styling:
Vanity Kills

Homewreckin’ Honey
Photography:
Luke Copping
Model & MUA:
Rachel Mazzie

Exit Ritual
Photography:
Umbriel Finite Images
Model:
Vanity Kills

In Abandoned Places
Photography:
Danielle McGraw Photography
Model:
Vanity Kills

In Abandoned Places 2
Photography:
Umbriel Finite Images
(photo editing by Mich Fisher – Plastic Hassle)
Model & Guest Writer:
Dan Barrett

The Reaper
Photography:
Bill Tracy Photography
Model:
Vanity Kills

Future (I’m)Perfect
Photography:
Bill Tracy Photography
Models:
[pink]
Vanity Kills
[black]
Lisa G.

Hotel Bathory
Photography:
Umbriel Finite Images
(photo editing by Mich Fisher – Plastic Hassle)
Model:
Meagan Kyla

Queen of the C.H.U.D.
Photography:
Alas Vera
Model:
“Princess Bea: Queen of the C.H.U.D”: Vanity Kills

MKSEARCH, Subproject 55
Photography:
Lanya B
Model:
Dan Barrett

Donut Quest
Photography:
Eye of Ra
Model(s):
Vanity Kills
Dan Barrett
Stefan the Ant

The Plague Widow
Photography:
Lanya B
Model:
Vanity Kills

see full size in gallery below

The Plague Widow

Story by Dan Barrett who shares my love of woodcuts, dark ambient, cathedrals and “evil stuff.

NOTE: This story is best accompanied by the music of Raison d’etre. Or something “sad and evil”.

Oro supplex et acclinis, I meekly and humbly pray,

Cor contritum quasi cinis: my heart is as crushed as the ashes:

Gere curam mei finis. perform the healing of mine end.

The somber cerulean abyss of night rose to veil the dying bouquet of oranges and reds painted in the twilight sky. The last drops of the day’s storm were lightly dancing atop dark puddles, shadowed by the massive archway overhead. The cathedral towers stretched high above, piercing the gathered clusters of fog, toward unseen heavens. In the most distant and obscured spire, the bells slowly rang out seven dissonant chimes to sullenly acknowledge the hour. The ringing was to fall on my ears alone. In withered hands I carried the remembrance wreath of violet stargazer lilies. From deep within the abandoned walls of the grand edifice I could hear, in infinite faintness, the ghost choirs on the breath of the wind. From the steps I gazed out into the vast, crumbling cemetery where my village now slept.

see full size in gallery below

Three years ago, the black plague ravished my town, crippling and debilitating its denizens. After days, or even weeks, of agonizing suffering, the body would eventually expire. My children, my husband, and my acquaintances all perished that autumn. Everyone I had ever known had been obliterated in the course of a single season. Now, I was the town’s widow, eternally damned to unrequited mourning. I was left, each day, to dress the headstones of the children with memorial wreaths and utter hymns directing the wandering souls to solitude and salvation, to stroll the mausoleum of my deceased community, offering quiet prayers of bereavement. I am a specter who walks among deserted ruins and clandestine ghosts on this lost highway with no end. For I was the first victim of the plague and my desolation is that of death. And so, I am cursed in this nonexistence to never again be with the ones I loved.

Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine :
et lux perpetua luceat eis.
In memoria æterna erit iustus,
ab auditione mala non timebit.

Turning something like “The Great Pestilence” into a fashion statement is, in this humble (ahem…) blogger’s opinion, the very essence of goth. Okay, maybe not modern PC goth, where people get up in arms about everything under the fucking sun. I got into it because I like “evil stuff”. No, this is not up for discussion.

However…

see full size in gallery below

We’re sort of going to skip all those super creepy plague doctor bird masks (did I mention how creepy I think those fucking things are?), smelly rags, and gangrene-inspired makeup in favor of loosely Victorian influenced styles. Because those Victorians had mourning down to a science.

Is my take on it not OG enough for you? Looking for something with a little more authentic 14th century diseased European peasant flair to it? Then by all means, please DO stop bathing, attack a potato sack with scissors and start wearing THAT everywhere you go. The debilitating illnesses will follow naturally. Oh, wait; we don’t do panhandling-by-choice “crust punk” around here. I forgot.

Inspiration list: Woodcuts, bubonic plague, dark ambient, Catholic fetishization of pain, sadness, the National Cathedral in DC, Gregorian monk chants, my sick obsession with building an outfit around that black and white skirt.

But especially dark ambient.

With that out of the way, ladies, may I have your attention please…

Ruffled shirts lend the appearance of having a more voluminous chest area.

Added benefit aside, the Blacklist Core #49-237 Long Sleeved Ruffle Dress Shirt in the blood colorway is one of the most ultimate layering staples a goth girl can have in her ever expanding closet. Pair with a black underbust to get that effortlessly put together look in literally, a cinch. Oh and it also

• Sweetens up a business suit (although you’ll want to tuck it into your pants).
• Takes the school marm/food service worker factor out of a basic black vest.
• Looks simply striking with a well tailored simple black blazer.
• Puts the FUN back in funeral.

Show your ribcage without sacrificing tasty noms for the rest of your life with a medically inspired cameo underbust. I’m 100% okay with wanting to look mortally ill. But I’m not down with keeping it real enough to actually get there.

All the X-ray corset action not giving you any sartorial mourning wood? Try this adorable lacy number from the eerily appropriately named Victorian Mourning line in the black colorway.

Creeped out by the mere thought of sportin’ some post-mortem locks attached to a jet brooch much like our Victorian friends did? In that case my squeamish comrade, it seems like a lone black silk flower pinned against your throat might just be more up your alley.

Pay penance to the fashion gods (or 80s Madonna) by accessorizing with a rosary, if you wish. I quit Christianity somewhere in the neighborhood of age 10, but can’t help but be drawn to all the trappings of Roman Catholicism (that I didn’t care about as a kid). It’s so full of anguish, misery, martyrdom and torture. And Catholics totally win at architecture. AND I FUCKING LOVE MUSIC THAT IS MOSTLY MADE UP OF LATIN REQUIEMS AND GREGORIAN MONK CHANTS!

Oh and you’re not TRULY IN THE THROES OF AGONY, until you hide behind a long black veil. It’s all about showcasing your sadness in the most flamboyant manner imaginable. Still confused? Study Robert Smith‘s every move. Only then will you posses the ability to mope with the best of them.

The time of Tim Burton being a relevant, edgy and innovative movie director may have come and gone, but those black and white vertical stripes are here to stay. Not to say that Tim Burton like, invented that shit, because clearly he did not, but I’ll be damned if I don’t call black and white vertical stripes, “Tim Burton stripes”. Long story short , this darkly romantic Victorian bustle skirt vaguely reminiscent of one of Christina Ricci’s party dresses in Sleepy Hollow adds instant sophistication to almost any get-up. Regardless of what crap old Timmy churns out next.

Conquering Coral (that’s right, kids it ain’t just for yo’ gran’ma Tilly anymore)

When I say “coral”, what’s the first thing that pops into your head? Perhaps the shade of paint one would use to spruce up the walls of a Floridian retirement home? An “edgy” hue of nail polish the 55+ set can rock on their toes while vacationing in Myrtle Beach? Makeup advice plucked directly from the pages of some yawn inducing blander-than-a-Michael Bolton-concert mainstream fashion magazine? Cause, yeah, that’s kind of what I think of. In many instances, yes, it IS the elevator music equivalent of the color world. Alas, an unexpected burst of coral offsets the tried and true smoky eye (favored by Goths AND porn stars worldwide) in a way which flatters both light and dark skin tones. It ensures that mournful “Oh the suffering…the torment……the unbearable pain” gaze you’ve been practicing in front of the mirror so diligently doesn’t go unnoticed under those layers of tulle obscuring your face. And hey, in case you do fuck up, you’re hidden behind the safety net of the mourning veil. Because, yes, smearing your eyeliner truly IS something to bemoan for all eternity.

Death and coral … TWO things we’ve reclaimed from the elderly in ONE frivolous fashion post. Next month in Lethal Style: Removing those pesky black lipstick stains from your dentures in one simple step.

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, coral pigment, eyeliner brush, black eyeshadow, small blending brush, matte mid-tone gray eyeshadow, small fluffy brush, matte white eyshadow, black eyeliner, black mascara

1. Using a dampened rounded edge brush, gently tap (DO NOT SWIPE) a coral pigment across your entire eyelid from lashline to crease.
2. Dab a tiny amount of black eyeshadow onto your eyeliner brush and draw a line which follows the natural crease crease of your eye. Making the line as straight and precise as you can is key! Using the same brush, blend the color outward. This technique is called cutting the crease.
3. With the help of a small blending brush, blend matte mid-tone gray eyeshadow up and outwards. Make sure to blend the gray into the black you added to your crease to avoid harsh lines.
4. Highlight your browbone by sweeping some matte white shadow directly under your eyebrows with the help of a small fluffy brush.
5. Line your bottom lid, starting from the outer corner of your eye, slowly making your way toward the inner corner with black kohl eyeliner. Most of the color should be concentrated in the outer corner. I find it’s easiest to put on eyeliner after eyeshadow and before mascara.
6. Curl your eyelashes with an eyelash curler and top off with 2 coats of black mascara.

Cheeks

You can skip the blush if the phrase “healthy glow” strikes terror in your little black heart. Or “pallid plague-stricken corpse” fits more within the parameters of your usual aesthetic.

(Disclaimer: Despite owning contraband such as “pale peach blush” and “bronzer”, it is not my desire to send anyone to a spooky re-education camp. I’m just a fan of playing up all parts of my face)

You will need:

Matte bronzer, pale peach blush, blush brush

1. Swipe some matte pressed bronzer onto your blush brush. Starting mid-cheek, going towards your ear, apply the bronzer 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. Using the same technique, add pale peach blush to the apples of your cheeks, which will cause them to protrude. Use translucent powder to blend between the two colors in order to avoid obvious lines.

Lips

As an avid reader of mainstream fashions rags, I can attest to the fact most beauty writers urge us to adhere to some rather strict makeup rules. Ladies curious about bold lip looks are told by these publications they “want to look vampy-NOT like a vampire”. And so we are advised to obey the “play up one feature at a time” rule. In other words, to keep the eyes and cheeks simple when opting for an over-the-top pout. In many cases I tend to agree, since I’ve borne witness to many a raccoon eyed, black-lipstick-on-the teeth trainwreck in my 13 years of gothing it up. So, I often favor the high impact eyes/ultra glossy nude lip look myself. Alas, sometimes it’s more than forgivable to set your makeup gun to “whore”, such as when wearing veiled hats which obscure the majority of your face. Go light on your lips and they’ll simply disappear under all the lace and netting. And so it had come to pass that your smokey eyes and plum lips came to a cease fire and became BFF again.

You will need:

Burgundy lipliner, plum lipstick

1. Use a burgundy lipliner to fill in your lips, starting at the center of your natural lip line and moving toward the outer corners. Filling in your entire lip area will not only make an excellent base for color, but will also prevent your lipstick from traveling past your actual lip line and setting up shop in the tiny fine lines around your mouth. Ever seen that shit? Fucking terrifying!
2. Follow up with plum lipstick. Beginning in the center of your upper lip, gently press the tube into the flesh of your lip and then proceed to roll it over the entire top lip area, working toward the edges. Repeat the process on your bottom lip.
3. Last but not least, remember to prevent potential slippage by placing a finger in your mouth, closing your lips around it and then removing said finger. This will remove any excess lip junk. In this new era of tagged Facebook photos catching everyone by surprise, you never know where your likeness will show up. And when that unflattering inebriated photo DOES surface, the last thing you want is being remembered as a card carrying member of the aforementioned “Raccoon eyed, Dark-lipstick-on-the teeth Trainwreck club” for all eternity. ‘Cause once something is up on ‘em InternetZ, it tends to never go away. So yeah, avoid lipstick-on-the teeth situations at all costs.

Credits:

Photography: Lanya B

Model: Vanity Kills

Location: The National Cathedral is located in Northwestern Washington DC

<3

Vanity Kills

[Show as slideshow]