Posts Tagged ‘Holiday Special’

The Birthday Girl

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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.

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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…

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“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.

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Vanity Kills

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The story of Easter

By: Dan Barrett (because he has to do something with that writing degree he acquired in college. Also “poetry” is in no shape or form a forté of Vanity Kills)

One day the Easter bunny came to earth
to bequeath upon us delicious chocolate
cast into fun and cute shapes
and also EBM.

Then he set about his work
to give every angry rivethead a basket of eggs
but not the new APOP album
(because it’s emo)

Some say Easter has something to do with resurrection
like the second coming of Skinny Puppy
Because everyone knows that Cevin Key
writes a better synth-line than Jesus.

It is a time to look up to the Rose-Coloured Skies
and Praise the Fallen
to put aside our Inhumane Amusement
and listen to that Wumpscut song Rise Again.

Anyway, the Easter rabbit gave out candy and tickets to Kinetik
to all the cybergrrls/cyberbois
because they love neon colors
and high sugar foods.

The number of eggs per basket
was directly proportionate
to the number of things that are not hair
in their falls.

April got a basket of green eggs
which matched her skirt
which came from Lip Service
Oh look kids, a plug!

Sadly, her Beloved puppy,
who happened to be wearing bunny ears for some reason,
appeared from the depths of the mist
and descended upon the treats faster than Rudy R.

So, with the spoils of the holiday lost,
she crushed an egg-shaped effigy
to curse the Eevil Young Flesh
and yelled out to the bunny that she was still talking but he wasn’t listening.

Also swords

Ahhhh…Easter. A blessed day devoted to the celebration of that which is most important in life, namely chocolate and zombies. It also heralds the imminent arrival of sweltering summer months. As the ye olde nuclear furnace in the sky causes temperatures to spike, many Lippy Addicts of the goth/industrial persuasion find themselves reliving the melting flesh scene from Robocop on a daily basis. Our friend, the mighty sun, greatly limits our wardrobe options and forces many of us to forsake being fashionable in the name of keeping our cool.

I’ve read several articles which tackled the issue of beating the heat without trading in your I’m-only-wearing-black-until-they-find-something-darker ensembles for khaki shorts, pastel tank tops and those god-fucking-awful monstrosities-in-shoe form called “flip flops”. While breezy linen skirts with black lace accents and dark colored camisoles embellished with standard gothy fare, such as the ever popular skull motif, were suggested as sensible alternatives, that still didn’t really solve the issue that plagues the inquiring minds of the style conscious spooky socialites amongst us, “Just what the fuck do I wear to the club when it’s still like 90 degrees at night?”

Well, since you asked….

While I dare NOT come between a goth girl and her arsenal of tight n’shiny fetish wear, I feel like it is my duty as a fashion blogger and fellow club goer to advise you to rock your infamous “historically accurate” Marie Antoinette gown reproduced entirely in pastel PVC in more moderate weather. Mostly due to the fact that I don’t want to smell your festering BO all the way across the bar. With that said, YES YOU CAN, wear vinyl when Mercury rises. You just have to “Use Your Brain And Think About It” (Thanks for letting me rip that phrase directly off my T-shirt, Feindflug).

Without further ado, here’s how to look hot without dissolving into a big sticky puddle of grossness:

Haute Heat

The key to making perspiration producing synthetic fibers such as vinyl, rubber, and latex work in the scorching summer season is to simply wear less of them. In other words, send those sexy but impractical dresses and catsuits on a much needed vacation until October. It should go without saying that sticking to separates will not only prevent you from lookin’ a hot boiled mess, but feelin’ like one too. Opt for a top or bottom of the PVC persuasion, but avoid wearing them AT THE SAME TIME. For maximum ventilation, try a simple black vinyl zipper-front sleeveless crop top, like April’s. Oh yeah, and don’t skimp on the antiperspirant.

Create a texture contrast by pairing your second skin-esque top with a more utilitarian-chic stretch twill olive cargo skirt such as this Lip Service Hot Topic style 29 79 (ht cut 14560) mini.

Covering your hands after Memorial Day might seem like a counterproductive feat at first, but trust me you’ll be glad you shielded your mitts after being forced to shake hands with a rather damp and odiferous friend-of-a-friend you’ve just been introduced to. The one that danced to the DJ’s back-to-back- set of old school EBM for the past 45 minutes. Then you’ll catch yourself thinking “Wow…that Vanity Kills was right. Short gloves in the summer really aren’t a bad idea”.

Petrified by the thought of having your feet encased by buckles and PVC for hours on end as you punch and kick your way across a sweaty crowded dancefloor? Then get out of the scene!

Two things:

1. Gladiator sandals or other “breathable” footwear commonly associated with the season will never be seen as a suitable substitute for boots here at Lethal Style. You’ll sooner see me touting the Olsen Twins as style icons.
2. To minimize chafing and discomfort, which can occur when moist skin comes in contact with material such as vinyl, apply talcum powder onto any exposed bits of your calf or thigh that touch the inside surface of your boot.

I have written detailed descriptions of the exact method of installing hair falls here and here.

Soylent Greens

If you’ve only limited yourself to sporting this hue to your annual St. Patrick’s Day pub crawl and the all Boy George 80s throwback night, then you my dear friend, haven’t been living at all. Spring into the green in 2010 (No, not in the granola-crunching Earth Mama sort of way either).

General Prep Work

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 that 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.

Eyes

1. Dab some brown eyeshadow onto a small angled brush. Tap off the excess. Starting at the widest part of the brow, near the nose, and using short strokes, apply brown eyeshadow directly to the natural hair of the eyebrow. Repeat on the other side. Make sure to use a shade that matches your hair color (in April’s case brown was used since she is a blonde). After you’re satisfied with the shape of your brows, feel free to seal them with a single coat of a makeup sealer.
2. Lightly coat your entire eyelid area with an eyeshadow primer to build a smooth base for your shadows, pigments, and liners.
3. Take an eyeshadow brush with a round/tapered edge and wet it a little. Dip your dampened brush into yellowish-green pigment and gently tap, DO NOT SWIPE, the pigment across your entire eyelid from lashline to crease.
4. With the help of a blending brush, deepen the crease of your eye with dark green shadow.
5. Using a smaller eyeshadow brush apply a layer of vivid green eyeshadow over the color you added in Step 3 to add dimension to the look.
6. Grab your blending brush again and blend the same vivid green eyeshadow you added in Step 5 into the dark green that you added to your crease in Step 4 to avoid harsh lines. Make sure to blend up and outwards.
7. Highlight your browbone with shimmery white eyeshadow applied with a small eyeshadow brush.
8. Line your bottom lid starting from the outer corner of your eye, slowly making your way toward the inner corner with your favorite brand of black kohl eyeliner. Most of the color should be concentrated in the outer corner.
9. Last but not least, add extra depth and drama to your gaze with a pair of false eyelashes. To apply, 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

1. Swipe some mauve blush onto your blush brush.
2. Apply the mauve blush to the apples of your cheeks.
3. For added glow, blend a small amount of highlighter powder into the tops of your cheekbones. This will enhance the definition of your bone structure.

Lips

1. For a sheer wash of pretty spring time pastel color, use a mauve lip liner to fill in your lips starting at the center of your natural lip line and moving toward the outer corners.
2. Finish off with a coat of clear lipgloss.

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Credits

Model, Photography and Styling: April Mayi

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Vanity Kills