Posts Tagged ‘Serial Killer Chic’

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]

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]

It’s usually fun and exciting to be a princess; it’s something pseudo-magical that people (usually girls) aspire to be. You get to live in a large castle, eat fancy food, wear overly-expensive garish clothing, and generally do whatever you want. However, this all ended for me when I was 17. That was when my mother, an important queen, died and her throne was usurped. The old and terrible Madame Frontenac, who took over the monarchy, cast me, being the only living bloodline to the rightful queen, down to live in the depths of the rotting, abyssal basement.

The disused shithole had always been off-limits to me during youth, and it was readily apparent why. Firstly, the stench of the entire place was face-melting (and not in the yummy MDMA laced baked goods way, either). Secondly, the place was dimly lit and covered with dust & cobwebs. Thirdly, there simply wasn’t anything to do down here. So, not only was I bored and trapped indefinitely in this dismal catacomb, but all my fancy clothes, save for one party dress, were revoked and given to the Madame’s obese, repugnant daughter.Not like she even fit them FML.

I lost track of time nearly immediately, since there was no way to tell the fluctuation of light from the outside world. Every so often, a maid would bring me some food and, occasionally, some cleaning materials, since my title had apparently been downgraded from princess to basement janitor. “Princess Bea” was now, and seemingly forever, “Janitor Bea.” Cleaning this ill-used compound was degrading and, as time passed, I harbored a growing resentment towards the evil Madame Frontenac, wishing only to escape so I could see the look on her face while I relieved her of her head.

For months there was no hope of retribution; that is, until I discovered the ancient wooden door, hidden behind a decomposing dresser. The door led to an unlit hallway, which appeared to spiral down into the infinite black nothingness of the earth and smelled like a sewer. At first the door was of little significance, until the C.H.U.D came. The door was, in fact, the gateway to the kingdom of the cannibalistic humanoid underground dwellers! The C.H.U.D were very frightening in appearance, looking like mutant humans with glowing yellow eyes. They seemed unable to talk and, instead, made strange and terrifying grunting sounds. However, despite being utterly ghastly, they did not try to harm me. Instead, it was quite the opposite. The C.H.U.D would come out of hiding and gather around me like happy forest creatures while I did my chores in the basement. Eventually, the C.H.U.D adopted me as their own Princess, and my title was upgraded from “Janitor Bea” to “Princess Bea, Queen of the CHUD”.

The C.H.U.D were also angry at the Madame, who I assumed had something to do with the creation and subsequent imprisonment of the C.H.U.D, and they were willing to help me exact my revenge; for the C.H.U.D had tired of eating rats and rancid scraps of the underground, and they desired to dine on human flesh. When the time was right, we smashed our way out of our stygian tomb and set about reclaiming the fallen palatial abode. While the hired help were paralyzed by fear of the hideous mutants, the C.H.U.D dismembered and consumed them in vile and non-PC ways. These fiends from the dungeon depths quickly overran the castle and made short work of its inhabitants, all except for the Madame and her corpulent crotch fruit, who they trapped in the throne room.

At last I was set to have my revenge. I commanded the C.H.U.D to do away with the daughter and they set their ravenous teeth to her, ripping her limb from limb until not but a bloody pulp remained. For my own satisfaction and as payment for my banishing, I tore the Madame’s head off her very shoulders with uncanny C.H.U.D-inspired strength. The pleasant howls of the sated C.H.U.D. filled the blood-soaked room. I held the severed head above me at length and declared myself the proud and mighty Bea, Queen of the C.H.U.D.

For Mine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever. Amen.

The Abbatoir Aristocrat

Tattered cloth juxtaposed with pearls and restrictive corsetry make for fashions worthy of a present-day princess with a taste for both the refined and the macabre. The girl who’ll rip out you digestive system, have it bronzed and use it as a tiara rack.

Constructed from sexy sheer layers of ravaged fabric, the SlasHer Girl’s Long Sleeved Shirt gives a raw edge to even the most frilly sugarcoated layer cake of a skirt. As if it were tailor made for a true queen of the underworld whose ultimate storybook happy ending is laden with severed heads.

Shred your shirts, not your dignity. A black PVC underbust corset works double duty by providing curvage and coverage simultaneously.

*Insert pearl necklace joke here*

Har har har…now that we got that out of the way…

A strategically placed accessory typically associated with all the trappings of the upper class softens up the slashed n’trashed top and lends an echo of cultivated beauty to your reign of glamour and terror. Stick to a single strand of pearls or an off-centered jeweled brooch for an air of lady-like elegance. I said ELEGANCE. Did you catch that? This means don’t pile on all the bling you stashed in your accessory drawer at once.

If you find traditional royal headwear to be too MySpace-scene-kid-tacky for your discerning tastes, pin an oversized purple leopard print lily into your lush locks instead. Look the part of a princess, not a royal mess.

A black petticoat trimmed with purple ribbons and ruffles worn in place of a skirt is truly befitting for nightclub royalty who love to flaunt their flair for the dramatic. And so, the next time you’re faced with the daunting dilemma of figuring out exactly what a girl should wear to a formal garden party, thrown in her honor by grotesquely deformed sewer dwelling creatures, go with the crinoline. Skip the overskirt. Some garments technically classified as underwear are just too pretty to remain hidden.

What’s this? Floor-sweeping skirts aren’t exactly your flavor? Try one of these short, but still decidedly sweet alternatives currently in stock on Lippy’s website right now:

Style #73-300-001 Ghoul School Voile Mini Skirt in the Black/Purple colorway.

Style #83-3-02 Victorian Mourning Side Zip Layered Mini Skirt in the Dark Purple colorway.

Glass slippers might’ve worked in Walt Disney’s adaptation of Cinderella, but you’re just not that kind of princess. Fetish meets fairytale in the form of black PVC knee-high boots laced with alternating black and purple satin ribbon. Guaranteed to stay put on your feet before, during, and after the ball.

Bone printed stockings showcase the pride you hold in your majestic and dignified man-devouring C.H.U.D heritage. For the C.H.U.D are a proud and noble race.

The updo is DEAD! Long live anything but…

Unless you favor the PedoBear-approved kiddie beauty pageant contestant look, I’d say that it’s time to give those overly crispy curls shellacked on top of your head a rest. In the kingdom of Lethal Style, loose waves hold court. The creation of which I’ve previously discussed in further detail here.

Alternatively, you can try this no fuss quick n’ painless straightener method:

Or pay some nice people in Hong Kong to send you a wig :)

Royal Blush

De-prissify dainty pinks and pastel purples once and for all with a punch of charcoal. Y’know, in case you were secretly worried about looking like an Easter Egg.

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 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.
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:

Eyeshadow Primer, Eyeliner that matches your hair color if you draw your eyebrows in, Makeup sealer (optional), Black eyeliner, Violet pigment, Charcoal pigment, Light pink eyshadow, Frosty off white eyeshadow, Eyeshadow brush with a round/tapered edge, Blending brush, Fluffy eyeshadow brush, Eyelash curler, Black Mascara

1. Prep your brows by filling them in with a pencil and softening the lines with a small brush or drawing them in if you don’t have them. Eyebrowless ladies like myself should make sure to use a pencil that matches their hair color. After you’re satisfied with the shape of your brows, feel free to seal them with a single coat of a makeup sealer. Last but not least, lightly coat your entire eyelid area with an eyeshadow primer, to build a smooth base for your shadows, pigments and liners.
2. Apply clear adhesive tape starting at the outer corner of your eye and extend to the end of your eyebrow. Press down gently with your finger to smooth it out. This little trick gives your eyeshadow an extremely pronounced hard edge, which creates a clean and defined shape.
3. Take an eyeshadow brush with a round/tapered edge and wet it a little. Dip your dampened brush into the violet pigment and gently tap — DO NOT SWIPE — the pigment across your entire eyelid from lashline to crease. Don’t worry if you get excess pigment on the tape. Once you’re done with your eye makeup and peel the sticky stuff off, I assure you that any messes you might have made will magically disappear.
4. Using a blending brush, add some charcoal pigment to the outer crease of your eye and bring it down to your lashline on the outer corner of your eyelid. This is also known as the “outer V”. Blend into the violet pigment from Step #3. If you shave and draw your brows on, you can extend the pigment past your crease and onto the lower part of your browbone, since you obviously have more room to work with. Once again, ignore any fallout that might have ended up on the area you previously taped off.
5. Starting at the inner corner of your eye, using a small fluffy eyeshadow brush tap some light pink eyeshadow outward toward the “V” of charcoal you applied in Step 4. Blend into the violet pigment you added in Step #3. Eyebrowless girls and boys have the option to extend the pigment past the crease and onto the lower part of their browbone the same way they did in Step 4.
   At this point, the outer part of your crease (and parts of your browbone if you’re brow-less) should be lovely shade of charcoal, while the inner part should be a light pink. Blend both shades into each other at their meeting point, which should lie somewhere at the halfway point in the crease of your eye.
6. Clean the fluffy eyeshadow brush you used in the previous step. Sweep some frosty off white shadow directly under your eyebrows (doesn’t matter if they’re drawn on or natural). Blend the frosty off white eyeshadow into the two colors that you’ve blended into your crease in Step 5, the charcoal and the light pink.
7. 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. I find that it’s easiest to put on eyeliner after eyeshadow and before mascara. Curl your eyelashes with an eyelash curler and top off with 2 coats of black mascara.
   Now would be a good time to remove the tape and admire your eyeshadow blending skills!

Cheeks

You will need:

Blush brush, Rose pink blush, Bronzer, Highlighter

1. Swipe some pressed bronzer onto your blush brush.
2. 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.
3. Now, using the same technique, add a rose pink 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. This ain’t Ru Paul’s Drag Race, where such things might be more acceptable.
4. 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

You will need:

Rose pink liner, frosted fuchsia lipstick

1. Use a rose pink lip liner 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 it will also prevent the bleeding and feathering of your lipstick.
2. For some delicious lips reminiscent of sugary baked goods, grab your frosted fuchsia lipstick and 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. Being spotted with lipstick on your teeth is considered a major beauty blunder! 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.

Photography:Alas Vera

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

Location: The terrifying basement of my old apartment in Buffalo, NY

<3

Vanity Kills

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I think it was about 3 years ago when I first met Mrs. Hendrickson. I was an amateur collector of all things Tiki, and new to town. I had heard through a colleague that she threw the absolute best Tiki-themed parties this side of Rapa Nui, so of course I could not turn down an opportunity to indulge in pseudo-Polynesian fare. It wasn’t long after I had moved that I was invited to one of her infamous shindigs. Her lounge was everything that I expected it to be: a densely packed space, filled to the brim with exotic foliage, strange & questionably legitimate artifacts, and all forms of carven Pacific rim deities big and small. In fact, the cluster of things was so heavy that no trace of the outside world had a chance of seeping in and ruining the experience. And what an experience it was. These wildly popular bashes were always crowded with new and returning faces, and there was no shortage of excellent rum-based drinks nor hedonistic activities to partake in. It was always a great place to go to escape the terrible events of the week and lose yourself in a strikingly realistic world of wooden gods, potted palms, hula dancing and of course the trademark of a Hendrickson party: the shrunken head drinking glasses.

Of course there were always rumors about the place, most likely spoken by those who weren’t adventurous enough to actually attend one of these alcohol-soaked affairs, and instead preferred to shit on other people’s good times from afar. The word on the street and resting on the lips of party-goers, though never spoken outright, was that Mrs. Hendrickson’s shrunken heads were just a little TOO realistic. She would never tell anyone where she purchased these curious vessels, or how she came to acquire such a collection, and instead insisted that their origin was mundane and the knowledge of it would ruin the mystique.

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At first I, like the other guests, simply brushed off these rumors as silly urban legends invented by petty kill-joys who were jealous of Mrs. Hendrickson’s success. However, after attending these suburban island getaways for several years I started to notice things that were in fact a bit strange. Mrs. Hendrickson would introduce a new shrunken head on the last weekend of every month, and I swore some of them resembled attendees of days past, for example: someone who’s hair you vaguely remember staring at on the way to get another Mai Tai. But perhaps this was in some sort of odd tribute to an honored guest who moved away. There were other things too; I couldn’t help but think that the gaunt, leathery features on these heads were a bit TOO lifelike. In retrospect, they were a bit scary until you got a few drinks in your system (luckily which didn’t take very long at all). And if you had the honor of using the newest addition to the collection you would notice that it was oddly warm to the touch. For all of these things I found some sort of rationalization to ignore them, and of course a slice of bright fruit mixed with rum was always helpful in keeping my mind on more hedonistic matters.

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However, after several years of enjoying the local interpretations of crab rangoon and pig roast, I came to know that the rumors of the shrunken heads was all too true. It was late in the year, one of the autumn months. I had been exploring the local dive bar scene while waiting for the next luau to commence and on several occasions had met a rather annoying young woman who attempted to wow me with stories of tribal life in Tahiti that were so full of gaping mistakes and inconstancies that she may as well have read me an amateur Hollywood script. The point is not that she grated on my nerves, but the fact that I knew her rather well and could recognize her juvenile countenance in any setting. Needless to say, when that fateful Tiki party I was rather pleased to get back to drunkenly arguing about the construction and transportation of the ancient Moai over Mrs. Hendrickson’s signature cocktail “Cannibal Concubine”. Since it also happened to be the end of the month, a new shrunken head was due to be announced. I had grown a bit weary of this tradition after bearing witness to it for so long, so I choose to talk with some friends rather than gaze upon yet another withered trophy. I thought nothing of this new cephalic chalice until it came into my field of vision later than night. Normally I would hardly have paid it any mind, but when I saw this ghastly abomination I couldn’t help but scream in fright. For the new head bore the exact visage of the girl from the bar!

Needless to say, that was my last encounter with Mrs. Hendrickson and her grandiose gatherings. I left town not too long after and never looked back. Sometimes I wonder about those parties though, as I am sure they continue in my absence. Despite everything, a part of me hopes that Mrs. Hendrickson is still there, throwing lavish soirees and pouring one of her trademark mixed drinks for a cute young girl with a memorable face.

Her most famous drink: “Cannibal Concubine”

Ingredients:

• 1 1/2 oz white rum
• 1 1/2 oz dark rum
• 1 oz pineapple juice
• 1 oz orange juice
• 1/2 oz fresh blood
• grated foreskin
• severed finger or eyeball wedge

When the word “luau” springs to mind, what sort of wardrobe options does your mind conjure up? Grass skirts and coconut shell bras? Bikini bottoms and flip flops? Or perhaps the ubiquitous Hawaiian shirt with an updated feminine cut? While that’s mighty fine for a pig roast on the beaches of Oahu, dressing the part of this hula homemaker with a vicious streak calls for a sexy spaghetti strapped frock that will leave her party guests drunk with desire. Accessorize it with care and the boys will simply lose their heads!

Scratch the seven seas itch with a mainland-friendly cocktail dress suitable for suburban hausfraus struck by island madness .Think sinister hostess with the mostest in this elegantly simple Lip Service 92-186-HT cut 17643 style made for Hot Topic.

A must for the modern day June CLEAVER, whose love for decapitation and head shrinking is matched only with her love of baking that perfect pie. ( I love when the jokes write themselves)

A black, wide elastic waist belt nips and defines your midsection (Note: When wearing a dress without a well-defined bodice such a belt aids in creating an extremely figure enhancing babydoll shape)

Forget those ridiculously overpriced cocktail rings. Try pairing wooden Virgin Mary and Memento Mori bracelets as a darkly kitsch and, quite frankly, cheaper alternative. Because every fashionable domestic goddess sure does love a bargain!

Nude Cuban heeled black back seamed pantyhose! Legs just don’t get anymore pinup perfect than that!

The lady of the house can’t be gallivanting about in some of those 7” inch stilettos that nudie dancers wear when she’s running around with a hors d’oeuvres serving tray in one hand, and a scorpion bowl in the other. But a pair of these adorable black patent 3” pumps will do just fine!

Head Huntress Hair

Straight, sleek and voluminous. Not a strand out of place.
Hotter than the fires of Pele lighting a volacano bowl. Cooler than a “Singapore Sling” on a blistering July afternoon. Deadlier than a “Scorpion’s Sting” chased by a “Zombie”.

• Coat hair with a layer of heat-protective spray.
• Grab a flat iron and clamp it down on your hair as close to the roots as possible.
• Pull flat iron through hair slowly and away from the head.
• Part hair at crown and proceed to pull up and away from the face.
• Place Bump-It under part.
• Arrange hair in such a way that it covers the Bump-It and pin it back into place.
• Place two black hair flowers in hair where the Bump-It begins.
• Use smoothing cream to keep the remaining hair, (which is not “Bump”-ed up) fly away free.
• Apply a liberal amount of hairspray to keep hair in place.

Orchids of Hawaii

Bring out your inner “Tease of the Seven Seas” and channel the beauties of Leeteg’s black velvet paintings with an eye and lip palette inspired by the perfect pinks and lush purples of a Polynesian paradise.

Skin

1. Meagan applied a tinted moisturizer all over her face using a cosmetic sponge to enhance her natural skin tone. This is a great alternative to wearing heavy foundations in the sweltering summer months!
2. Using a powder brush, she added a dusting of translucent powder to set the tinted moisturizer in place and nix any potential shininess.

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 Meagan’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. Using a fluffy brush apply purple eyeshadow across your entire eyelid from lashline to crease.
4. Hold down your lower eyelid. Using a small eyeliner brush, dot plum (or any shade of purple that is darker than what you used in Step 3 ) shadow directly underneath the eyelash line of your lower lid, beginning at the outer portion of the eye.
5. With the help of a blending brush, add the same plum shade you added in Step 4 to the crease of your eye.
6. Highlight your browbone with soft shimmery beige eyeshadow applied with a blending brush.
7. For extra pronounced lashes top off with 3 coats of black mascara.

Cheeks

1. Swipe some peach blush onto a medium sized blush brush.
2. Apply the peach blush onto cheekbones and blend into temples.

Lips

1. Meagan applied a cotton candy hued pink lipstick straight from the tube all over her lips and then blended the edges with a lip liner brush.
2. She finished off the look with a coat of sheer pinky gloss she added on top of the lipstick.

Credits

Model and Photography:Meagan Kyla

Location: Buffalo, NY

<3

Vanity Kills

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The style industry is a brutal one indeed. There are so many things which must be made pristine: the eyes shadowed, the chin brushed, the cheekbones accentuated, the hair angled, the nails trimmed & painted; so many things to keep track of and so many things that could go wrong. So many things…
It is inevitable that sculpting perfection day-in and day-out would take a toll on the artisan; especially when they themselves are falling, unavoidably, into the withering grasp of age.

Kyla Breen was well known for her pursuit of absolute perfection when it came to styling for her clients. It was an amazing rush at first, watching as she turned the young women from fairly-good-looking-to-a normal-guy-on-the-street into radiant, statuesque beings which embodied the virtues of the human form. Of course, she was young and beautiful herself; no different really from the results she created on a daily basis. But time and age are cruel masters, and they creep up on the best of us. Kyla’s clients never seemed to age; it would be the same girl for a year or two until she was replaced by another of the same stature and facial structure, perhaps with some subtle difference – maybe this one had shorter hair and higher cheekbones than the last – but the flow of time was lost within Kyla’s studio. Always entering young, always leaving beautiful. Time, however, continued to flow for Kyla, and the realization that she was not immune to its destructive nature simmered in the back of her mind, growing stronger and more vivid with each passing year. In the past, their faces would blur together; glowing, flawless, smiling countenances which were ever approving of her. But recently she knew they saw her differently. The faces could see her getting older, dated. Under veiled mutters they called her washed-up, irrelevant, replaceable. She simply could not allow this to happen.

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The first kill was easy. Her company was putting her and a potential client up in a hotel overnight before a big premier. Kyla was a lexicon of nearly every cream, powder and/or tonic known to man, and human blood, she determined, was the most effective anti-beauty treatment. She had never felt so invigorated, nor had her skin felt so smooth from any other moisturizer. Fuck these dime-a-dozen pop models and actresses; the secret was hers. She had later dumped the corpse down the garbage chute and told the company that the girl was too fat to fit their needs. They unflinchingly agreed, and it was not long before another girl made an appearance in Kyla’s studio.

The initial taste of blood opened the sealed gateway to the promise of unending beauty, and once unlocked, it could not be closed…not that she would have wanted to close it anyway. She had eventually relocated to a moderate sized room in a hotel downtown; the epicenter of commerce. The place had been recently renovated, but still contained the subtle musk of dilapidation. The basement was the worst; the exposed piping and cracked walls remnants of harsher times. In the beginning, most of the killing took place there; she thought the space fitting for the vile act of ending a life, however she quickly realized that this was unnecessarily increasing her workload. Once she discovered the magic of poisoned eyeliner she was able to move the haute-homicide into her personal studio. It only took a few seconds of direct application (which couldn’t be more commonplace) to put the client into a paralyzed state from which she could gut them to her heart’s desire. Often, she would use the girl’s blood mere hours later for an evening cleansing ritual, but sometimes life got in the way and she would have to bag it (she bought a series of cute bags with red crosses from Neiman Marcus) and store it in the refrigerator until appropriate time could be made for the bath.

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Eventually, she had lost count of the number of girls who “didn’t fit the requirements” of the company’s latest project. The company’s business was ever-increasing, and there was no drought of women in need of styling. After long days of painstaking artistry (also killing), Kyla spent most of her nights in the bath, sipping pinot noir and marveling at her flawless skin tone. Her clients were consistently amazed at how young and energetic she appeared, despite having worked for the company for what seemed like ages, and the company kept giving her promotions, citing her strong work ethic and unwavering professionalism when it came to quality control.

Recently, the company has decided to open a new European branch and they are looking to fill a position for experienced stylist who has no qualms about sorting the wheat from the chaff…

Laced with Madness

For an updated take on Elizabeth Bathory’s Sunday Best, forget the aged, dusty costume shop gown and join the Thrill Frill Cult. Today’s Blood Countess forsakes Renaissance frippery and trades in bling-ed out shoulder rolls and five pounds of petticoats for delicate floral patterned jackets, touchable velveteen minis, and cascading ruffles. Lace leaves the boudoir and takes the streets by storm. You too can work some sheer magic without feeling like:

• Your own grandmother.
• Stripper working the day shift at the titty bar by the airport (“Stripper chic” is fine by me, alas not everyone loves sleaze as much as I do)
• Something found in the drapery section of Bed, Bath and Beyond.

A long sleeved stretch black lace shirt manages to simultaneously conceal and reveal. Shows enough skin without turning you into a tacky tramp (which once again is okay by Vanity Kills…but I realize that not everyone shares my sense of aesthetics…blah blah blah). A girl needs to keep some degree of mystique. As any burlesque queen worth her sequined pasties will tell you: always leave them wanting more.

Note: Unless you’re willing to put up with dudes in Ed Hardy shirts attempting to rent you out for the hour, please wear a bra. A black one being the best and obvious choice.

For a full-on vintage vixen vibe, pair with an open Vaudeville Vamps #25-94 Long Sleeved Jacket in the ivory/black colorway. This tasty little cover up prevents you from being mistaken for a sex worker, while still managing to lead the boys unto temptation.

Deck your neck out with a black lace ruff for extra oomph. Attention statement necklace: You’re officially fired!

Note: Even if you loved Prince in Purple Rain, I wouldn’t advise taking too many style cues from a man famous for his assless chaps. When rockin’ the ruff, make sure to keep that jacket open. Otherwise, you run the risk of your friends breaking into a chorus of “When Doves Cry” as you walk by.

Topping off your locks with a vintage cage veil velvet hat embellished with flowers and feathers is almost as decadent as bathing in the blood of models to retain your youth. Almost…

Brassy, bejeweled wrist candy adds elegance to any outfit.

A high-waisted tulip skirt such as the Transvision Velveteen #82-157 Speculative Mini Skirt in the black colorway is a flattering option for both your belly and legs. The fabric gently drapes over your mid-section, narrowing at the hemline which successfully camouflages trouble spots and creates curves in the right places.

+ 10 to fashion snob: Spending countless hours of my time doing research and collecting empirical data (errrr reading fashion blogs) lead me to believe that just about every haute couture guru showcased velvet in their Fall 2010 collection. So track this baby down and bring some of the catwalk into your closet for a mere fraction of the price.

Note: Nobody likes a Sloppy Sally, so tuck that black shirt into your mini.

Avoid looking like a doily by balancing out the lace heavy top with a pair of sheer black pantyhose. Contrary to that Mae West quote you might have read somewhere on a sassy T-shirt, too much of a good thing isn’t necessarily wonderful at all times.

Step into timeless style in a perennially classy pair of black oxford heels.

Countess Curls

What sort of do would a murderously egotistical degenerate sport to Fashion Week? A perfectly accessorized loose, curly bun, of course.

1. Dampen your hair.
2. Spray damp hair with setting lotion.
3. Separate into 1- 1 1/2 “ sections.
4. Curl with a medium barrel curling iron
5. Finger brush the curls (smoothing with fingers helps to battle the wonky curls!)
6. Pull the curls back into a ponytail.
7. Form a loose bun.
8. Secure with hair pins.
9. Hat up!
10. If you wear bangs brush them off to the side to off set the placement of the hat.

Making “Bloodthirsty Depraved Bitch” Look Good!

“Her lips so sweet
Every word cuts like knives
I feel the wounds as if self-inflicted
Broken porcelain beauty
I still long to touch
I prick my finger to paint her lips” -Die Sektor “When Porcelain Bleeds”

Skin with a porcelain finish and vermillion E. Bathory herself would (and did!) kill for are the focal point of this look!

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 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:

You will need:

Eyeshadow Primer, Brown eyeshadow(for the brows),Small angled brush, Makeup sealer(optional), Light purple eyeshadow with a slight bronze sheen, Eyeshadow brush with a round/tapered edge, Neutral nude eyeshadow, Blending brush, Black liquid eyeliner, Eyelash curler, Black Mascara.

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 Kyla’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. Last but not least, lightly coat your entire eyelid area with an eyeshadow primer, to build a smooth base for your shadows, pigments and liners.
2. Using a brush with a round/tapered edge apply a light purple eyeshadow with just a slight hint of a bronze sheen across your entire eyelid from lashline to crease.
3. With the help of a blending brush add neutral nude eyeshadow to the browbone area directly under your eyebrows. Blend the neutral nude shadow into the gold shadow that you applied in Step 2.
4. Starting at the inner corner of your eye, rim your upper lashline with liquid black eyeliner. Extend the line upward as you approach the outer corner of eye. This produces the much sought after winged “cat eye” effect.
5. Curl your eyelashes with an eyelash curler and top off with 2 coats of black mascara.

Cheeks:

You will need:

Blush brush, Peach blush

1. Swipe some peach blush onto your blush brush.
2. Apply the peach blush to the apples of your cheeks for a healthy, natural I-just-bathed-in-virgin-blood glow.

Lips:

You will need:

Matte liquid foundation (optional), Neutral flesh toned lipliner, Mid-tone berry pink lipstick, Small tapered lip brush, Red lip gloss

1. For all night budge proof lip color, prime your pout with a small amount of foundation. Filling in your entire lip area with a neutral flesh toned lip liner minimizes fading, blurring and feathering of lip color as well. To do so, start at the center of your natural lip line move toward the outer corners of your lips.
2. With a small tapered lip brush, apply a mid-toned berry pink lipstick to the center of your lip and then proceed to distribute it over the entire lip area.
3. Finish off with a coat of red lipgloss.

Credits:

Photography: Umbriel Finite Images

(with editing by Mich Fisher – Plastic Hassle)

Model: Meagan Kyla

Location: Buffalo, NY

<3

Vanity Kills

[Show as slideshow]

The Reaper

(Or “Reaper Stripper” if y’all please)

The name’s Candy. When I first entered the adult cabaret biz, I tried goin’ by Licorice and work the whole dark ‘n’ delicious angle, but my boss couldn’t spell none of ‘em big college words over five letters, so I was christened “Candy”.

see full size in gallery below

Walkin’ into my former place of employment, the Shake N’ Squeal (just a spittin’ distance from Goose Creek, Kentucky) was like fallin’ headfirst into a Jerry Springer episode after a weeklong meth bender.

Sister-on-sister chicken grease wraslin’ every last Friday of the month?

Check

Sixteen year olds in their third trimester liquored up on Wild Turkey rollin’ around on the stage?

Check

Multi-generational granny-mother-daughter triple threat “feature dancers”?

Check, check, and check.

Let’s say that my childlessness, lack of Tony the Tiger caliber stretchmarks on my rear and my unwillingness to swap spit with my blood relatives for a shiny new penny always made me the odd woman out.

I spent nearly ten years of my life entertainin’ the crème de la crème of the Bluegrass State who happily pissed away their welfare checks either in this here ole’ dump or at the racetrack. Sometimes the high rollers who just got done holdin’ up a 7-11 in town would pass through our humble gates. It would always be a glorious day for all us hard workin’ gals, since we’d actually be seein’ cash money that day. Nearly daily someone would try to pay us in WWE ticket stubs(“Come on baby…they’re good till next July”) and deer jerky. My greatest admirer even tried to gift me his dentures, before passin’ on to the great NASCAR track in the sky this past summer.

see full size in gallery below

There had to be more to life than Cletus Toothless III shouting “Hey Elvira, I’ll give you 5 dollars for a l’il extra sumfin’ sumfin’” in my general direction. And if that don’t bother you none, just imagine the local preacher stumblin’ in come Saturday night, tryin’ to give you  grief for not bein’ a frequent visitor to the house of worship on Sundays. Tryin’ to scam free lap dances, since he’s a man of God ‘n’ all. Yes, Jesus himself told him that it was his moral duty to exorcise the demons out of me in the privacy of his pickup. I was pushin’ 30 and here I spent the best years of my life grindin’ on hill jacks reekin’ of Jim Beam and failure in a peach-colored lace thong. A quarter does not a sufficient tip make, and a girl can stand hearin’ the details of Billy Bob’s latest ploy to rip off worker’s comp, by means of fictitious injury, only so many times before bein’ driven to madness. Could you shake your ass to Lynyrd Skynyrd four times a week while some inbred yokel named Bubba tossed nickels and dimes at you?

So wouldn’t ya know, one day I decided that the grass here just ain’t blue ‘nuff no more and I did what so many folks done did when their bar tab climbed too high – skipped town.  So, I had never really been too far from town before and I must admit, the country was lookin’ mighty fine to me. I had nowhere to go, so I just plain drove the ol’ ’83 pickup ‘til she couldn’t drive no more. Eventually, she conked out lazily on the side of one of them back roads (how can ya tell ‘em apart?). Seems that lady luck was smilin’ her golden smile on me that day ‘cause what-da-ya-know, there was a couple o’ nice old-lookin’ shacks, or remnants thereof, not far from the road that hadn’t been lived in for years. This seemed like as good a place as any for a retired exotic dance professional to set up shop.

They say you can take a girl out of Kentucky, but you can never take Kentucky out of a girl. Well I’d let you know how true that is, if I could ever manage to get out of here. I thought I’d be able to live the nice quiet life in my shack, alone, but you know how these parts are. All the Billy Joes and Cletuses just can’t seem to mind their own damn business.

see full size in gallery below

See, one day I’m sittin’ on the porch scrapin’ mud and spider guts off my heels when I notice a couple of good ol’ boys approachin’. These didn’t appear to be any of my dear ‘fans’ per say, but they looked as broken-down and depraved as they come. I imagine that they came out this way in search of some poachin’, or perhaps just a bit of gropin’ each other’s genitals out-of-sight to get ‘em roused up for stickin’ in one of their foul-smelling hogs later. The sight of these greasy, half-retarded bumpkins made my blood boil.

I knew that if they saw a woman their jaws would go slack, dripping saliva and god-knows-what-else as they fantasized about bending my fine ass over next ta’ one of those aforementioned piglets. Ugh. Well, shit, I don’t need ta take anymore comments nor stares from worthless sacks a’ horse dung anymore. I told you that I was staying in a shack. What I didn’t mention was that the previous resident was some kind’a butcher o’ sumthin’ ‘cause they left all these big hooks and pitchfork lookin’ things everywhere. I fig’er if it can waste a cow, it can end a braindead, moonshined-up ‘man’…

It didn’t take long, but they spotted me.  I could’ve written the whole conversation before it played out, because it was so nauseatingly typical. “Hey there hunny, whatcha doin’ out here by ya lonesum?” “Wouldn’t you like sum company? You look like a stripper or sumthin’, I bet you could show me a reeel good time”. Oh, and what a time I would show them.

I acted lady-like enough to convince them to drag themselves into the innards of the shack, nearly as dilapidated as the men entering it. After that, well you know how that rage gets ya’ acting like you ain’t even the same person no more. “Hey boys, how much do ya like hooks?” Figure I could lure ‘em in with the promise of sum’ a dat ‘kinky shit’. They were practically foaming at the mouth at that premise. Well, I led them into my ‘special room’ and let the fun began.

see full size in gallery below

I let the bigger one, I dubbed em Cletus A, sit in an old wooden chair and tied him down with grubby rope. I was even so kind as to let the other one, Cletus B, watch as I took a giant meathook to his friend’s face. It was like Hellraiser in 3D. His mottled skin peeled off like an orange peel, or like the wrapper of a condom. Blood shot out everywhere like one of them big geysers. I guess his friend was so gone from years of moonshine that he thought this was some kind of magic trick. He hooped and hollered and even gave a little clap at the demonstration.

His crooked teeth and the reek of pigshit were infuriating enough, but this last bit put me over the edge. I grabbed one of the heels I had just finished cleaning and jammed it right into one of his dead-fish-like bulging eyes. With a sudden ‘pop’ sound, the blissful hooping mutated into shrill screaming. He was on the floor sputtering jibberish and vomiting what was probably raw deer meat, while his friend was sputtering up the last bits of blood and mucus that would ever pass through his filthy body.

I was tired of this yokel crawling and grimey-ing up my floor, so I reached up and found some sort of weighted club waiting for me. It looked like something they used to bash in the heads of cows before people cared about that ‘humane death’ shit. Well, unfortunately for Cletus B, humane death didn’t live here, and so the bashing begin. Some number of minutes later I noticed that the far wall had a lot more chunks on it than usual. I was surprised to find that any living matter came out of his head. I wondered: if I left this here would a stray deer maybe wander it and eat this up? That sure would be a time saver. I had to get my shoes cleaned up.

Well, wouldn’t you know it, but the brothers Cletus weren’t the only ones dumb enough to venture out here. Fortunately, a girl can really get used to killin’, especially when everyone reminds her of past clientele.  I’ve done lost count by now, but I’ve used almost every implement in the shack. But there are still some untainted cleavers which beg to cut again.

The name’s Candy.

But you can call me “The Reaper”.

see full size in gallery below

Embark on a wave of brutal butchery…without becoming a fashion victim yourself.

Notorious Hollywood franchise villains come complete with a signature look; Michael is a fan of Shatner chic, Freddy has been rockin’ the Christmas- sweater- and – Dick Tracy- headwear combo since the year I was born while Pinhead prefers shopping for accessories at Home Depot. Even when a girl is busy converting her town’s redneck population into ground hamburger she needn’t look like she just pilfered Jason Voorhees’s wardrobe.  Lest not forget that you’re a lady first & foremost, and that “style” makes up 50% of “execution style” indeed.

Beauty meets beast in ultra feminine tops, contour-hugging pencil skirts, extreme waist reduction and footwear likely to earn the seal of approval of Vlad the Impaler himself.

Get hooked on Lady is a Tramp II One for My Baby Stretch Poplin Cap Sleeve Top in the red/black colorway. The juxtaposition of the seemingly wholesome retro- flavored “girl-next-door” cut of the shirt, paired with traditionally “adult” fabrics like PVC is a seductive mix of sweet and dirty. Who doesn’t love a good girl doing bad things?

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The addition of a perennial fetish favorite, like a black PVC underbust corset, spices up almost any outfit, instantly transforming it from so-so to supersexy.

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When it comes to the fine art of showcasing your assets without lettin’ everyone and their half-retarded cousin Bud ogle what you’re working with, don’t skirt the issue. Gangsta Pranksta Bettie Bruiser mid length skirt in the black/white colorway is right on the money, honey.

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Sleaze up the pencil skirt’s conservative silhouette with fence net stockings for that authentic “I moonlight at the gentlemen’s club to pay the bills” feel.

Stripper shoes, modded with killer spikes, guarantee that wasted fratboys will be less likely to get fresh with you, as none will be too eager to be on the receiving end of a groin kick from one of these puppies. Bonus points for being the most popular girl backstage at a Gwar show. Provided you can actually walk in them.

Maniacal Mane

Gravity defying tresses that splice Nikki Sixx with Nivek Ogre.

I confess. My hair arrived in a tan colored standard shipping envelope directly from Hong Kong. Alas, fear not. You‘re only a few steps away from rockin’ the frazzled rooster look yourself. Provided that you meet the following conditions:

-Your hair is cut into choppy layers ( No amount of teasing will make layers magically appear on top of your head).

-You’re not one of ‘em hippie granola types who worry about strippin’ the Earth of its ozone layer. Or cry about the insects that will meet an untimely end upon landing on your ‘do after you’ve shellacked it into submission.

Alright, let’s get this show on the road:

1) Despite seeming somewhat counterintuitive, straighten all of your hair using a flatiron.

2) Apply a good quality root lifting spray directly to your scalp.

3) Alright! Time to divide and conquer! Separate the back of your hair into sections. Then proceed to grab any of the sections on the top of your head, spray it with a liberal amount of hairspray and proceed to backcomb the ever-loving fuck out of it. No, this isn’t good for your hair in the slightest. Tease your hair starting at the ends all the way to the roots. Secure with freezing spray.

4) Continue upon this path of teasin ‘n’ sprayin’ until you look like a pissed off porcupine.

(You might want to leave the front alone.  Just sayin’. That way you can sweep your pin straight bangs over your eyes for that ever popular Old English Sheepdog look all the “alternative” kids are sportin’ nowadays)

DEATH BECOMES HER

The 80s gave rise to two very important cornerstones of popular culture: high-impact, boldly-colored makeup and slasher films with minimal character development, over the top kills and gratuitous nudity. Give nod to iconic camp that defined the decade of excess with technicolor eyes, maximum cheek definition and Barbie-pink lips slicked with more gloss shinier than a mirrored strip club stage.

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 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.
7. Prep your lids with eyeshadow primer, whose job is 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:
Eyeshadow Primer, Eyeliner that matches your hair color if you draw your eyebrows in, Makeup sealer (optional), Teal eyeshadow, Shimmery medium purple eyeshadow, Frosty off-white eyeshadow, Eyeshadow brush with a round/tapered edge, Blending brush, Fluffy eyeshadow brush, Eyelash curler, Black Mascara.

Prep your brows by filling them in with a pencil and softening the lines with a small brush or drawing them in if you don’t have them. Eyebrowless ladies like myself should make sure to use a pencil that matches their hair color. After you’re satisfied with the shape of your brows, feel free to seal them with a single coat of a makeup sealer. Last but not least, lightly coat your entire eyelid area with an eyeshadow primer, to build a smooth base for your shadows, pigments and liners.

Using a brush with a round/tapered edge apply teal eyeshadow across your entire eyelid from lashline to crease. See Figure 1.

Figure 1

1. Hold down your lower eyelid. Using the same brush dot the teal shadow you applied in Step 2 directly underneath the eyelash line of your lower lid, beginning at the outer portion of the eye. Apply shadow to the outer three quarters of your eyelid, only. Otherwise you run the risk of making your eyes appear smaller than they actually are. This defeats the purpose of puttin’ on makeup to make yourself appear prettier.
2. With the help of a blending brush add some shimmery medium purple eyeshadow to the outer crease of your eye and bring it down to your lashline on the outer corner of your eyelid. This is also known as the “outer V”. Continue contouring the crease of the eye by blending more purple shadow up into the lower portion of your browbone and into teal eyeshadow from Step 2. See Figure 2
   

   Figure 2

3. Sweep some frosty off white shadow directly under your eyebrows [doesn’t matter if they’re drawn on or natural] with a small fluffy brush. Blend the frosty off white shadow into  the shimmery purple shadow that you contoured your crease with that Step 4.
4. Curl your eyelashes with an eyelash curler and top off with 2 coats of black mascara.

Cheeks:
You will need:
Blush brush, Rose-red blush , Bronzer

To achieve faux capillary dilation:

1. Swipe some pressed bronzer onto your blush brush .
2. 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.
3. Now using the same technique add a rose-red 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:

You will need:
Shimmering light pink lip liner, Most obnoxious shade of pink lipstick you can get your hands on(preferably a color favored by cock rock groupies of the 80s), Small tapered lip brush, Iridescent pink lip gloss.

1. Filling in your entire lip area puts an end to fading, blurring and feathering lip color. Use a shimmering light pink lip liner to fill in your lips starting at the center of your natural lip line and moving toward the outer corners.
2. To get lost in the neon glow of electric pink lipstick apply the color to the center of your lip and then proceed to distribute it over the entire lip area with a small tapered lip brush.
3. Finish off with a coat of iridescent pink lipgloss.

[Show as slideshow]

Credits

Photography:

Bill Tracy Photography

Model

Vanity Kills

Location:

Abandoned building in Otisville, NY.

<3

Vanity Kills

Cellar Heat

I glanced into the aged, dirty bathroom mirror one last time. It reflected a pallid, blue eyed, bottle redhead and something else most people couldn’t put their hands on. They called it a “presence”, they called it “snobbery”, they called it “The Condescending Whore Syndrome”. Whatever. I called it having nothing in common with them.

Not to mention that my cold, calculated distance drew these simple creatures in like the moth to a flame. I mean, really, come to think of it, my modus operandi was nothing short of flawless.

I fabricated this unattainable persona that evoked the awe and admiration of all these losers. It was child’s play. All it really took was a tightly corseted waist, glossy hair, mile high shoes rarely seen outside of strip clubs, or other such establishments of ill repute. Walking in like you owned the fucking place. Correction: KNOWING that you did. I’d stand just barely outside the perimeter of the dance floor on a weekly basis, drink in one hand, red and black handheld fan in the other. Sneering in disdain at the masses of flesh writhing before me in an awkward, off beat fashion as I aloofly fanned myself. How badly they wished to be me. How alien yet desirable the concept of style and grace must have been to them. Oh…and how I ever exploited that very longing…

Was there anything a boy wouldn’t do to have me on his arm?

Would a girl not sell her soul to swap style secrets with me in the bathroom in-between re-applying fresh coats of lip gloss?

click to view full size

This damn near deification made my job as a predator that much easier.

Starved for my attention, they’d nearly fall to their knees in reverence at the tiniest acknowledgment of their existence. I’d feign interest long enough to persuade them to follow me into the venue’s cellar. On average it usually took about 10 minutes, before they allowed themselves to be escorted into the damp, dark recesses of the dilapidated dive bar they frequented every Saturday night like clockwork. I’m not sure if they expected drugs, carnal pleasures or any combination of the above, but in the end it mattered none to me.

I did however enjoy watching the anticipation of temporal indulgence transform into fear. It lasted about a nanosecond, but I always wished that I could freeze time in order to prolong it. You could say that I got off on it. Yeah, if anything had ever come close to evoking arousal in me, it was that delightful fleeting moment where their pupils would dilate, muscles grew stiff with adrenaline and their hearts synced to the beat of the Hocico song currently being played upstairs.

And then I disposed of them.

click to view full size

The method in which I took their life varied from weekend to weekend, depending greatly on my mood, my outfit and the amount of fight that my prey had in them. I won’t get into detail, as a lady needs to keep her secrets. I don’t ask you how you play with your toys, now do I? It’s none of my business, really. I only ask that I be allowed the courtesy of keeping my private life private in return.

I will however confess to finding great joy in watching them expire to the tune of Suicide Commando’s “Bind Torture Kill”, because I love nothing more than the deliciousness of irony. It’s as if the DJ upstairs knew of my extracurricular cellar activities. Accept that he didn’t. Which made everything a tenfold more satisfying.

click to view full size

I enjoyed out- of- towners, which were a rarer but a significantly more aesthetically appealing treat the most. Cute rivet boys with their dyed black undercuts and asymmetrical lip rings. Lithe, statuesque deathrock girls with hair that seemingly defied gravity. Being entertained by these gorgeous specimens for the duration of an evening in my humble underground abode always made me feel like life is worth living. Come dawn, if they still had a face, I’d even kiss them.

A loud thudding suddenly put an end to my seemingly endless string of daydreams and musings on the fine points of separating skin from tissue (It’s so cliché and you’re totally going to laugh, but I did occasionally enjoy wearing the faces of exquisitely beautiful young ladies, much like Venetians enjoyed their silly gilded masks). The resident DJ began playing that godawful C-Drone-Defect track complete with those banal American Psycho samples and all the males felt it was their duty to battle it out on the dance floor in a pathetic display of their alleged manhood. Their lame little Testosterone Fest managed to irritate me every single time. That song should have been retired six years ago. And American Psycho samples? Are you serious? Stomping around to that garbage makes those little boys who fail in every other aspect of their life, both professional and romantic feel like such big strong men for a whole five and a half minutes.

Yet all that manly bullshit is nowhere to be found when I’m shoving their intestines down their throat.

Alas it’s time to stop lollygagging about this dusty old cellar and allow myself to be absorbed by the party atmosphere of the main floor. As usual they will all stop and stare when I walk in. Study my every movement with bated breath, wishing, hoping and waiting for their lucky day when they’re finally granted the access to my private sanctuary to arrive.

None care for their dearly departed friends.

Awaiting their turn with utmost anxiety leaves them with no time for mourning.

I applied one final coat of mascara, winked at the redhead in the mirror and seized the night.

For a crime scene chic look that kills:

You needn’t resort to played out “shock tactics” such as dousing yourself from head to toe in a gallon of Party City purchased blood to slay the heart of the cute boy at the bar. The line between “gory glam” and “gaudy” is a fine one indeed. Choose form fitting, feminine pieces that hint subtly at the macabre for an ensemble that’s wearable outside of October 31st related festivities and Psyclon Nine shows.

Nothing says “serial killer swagger” like a pre-shredded top! No, Ma’am, no more late night DIY butcher knife-meets-shirt surgery for you. Try the SlasHer Girl’s Long Sleeved Shirt, already sliced and diced for your convenience. Alas if baring an exposed midriff on a crowded subway en route to the club, puts the HO in HOmicide too much for your liking, pair with a red and black polka dot waist cincher. Now your split personalities can finally be at peace. The slutty femme fatale can enjoy the sheer black “leaves just enough to the imagination” top while the more modest yet figure enhancing aspects of the corset will appease your slightly more demure side. Figuring out how to stop your alter egos from executing unsuspecting individuals is another story though

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Peekaboo underwear which repeats the cincher’s pattern in a slightly different, yet still relevant color scheme showcases your rack as a most definite point of interest. Don’t get pissed off if some tool doesn’t know what color your eyes are, but let him buy you a ton of drinks anyway.

Visceral statement making neckwear, such as this piece inspired by a certain blood pumping cardiac muscle lets the world know that you have nice jugs AND passed 10th grade anatomy.

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Create a sweetly sadistic silhouette with Institutionalized Bondage Stretch Twill Houdini’s Assistant Hobble Skirt. The massive D-rings provide a nice alternative for chicks who always secretly wished to be cenobites, but didn’t want to deal with the whole messy process of HAVING GIANT MEAT HOOKS JUST CHILLIN’ IN THE FLESH OF THEIR THIGHS.

Slightly immodest but nonetheless related addendum: Girrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrl, the back of that skirt is a one way ticket to Free Drink City. And that is all I’m sayin’.

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Spooky stockings adorned with bones collected from your victims (serial murderers do love to keep trophies, don’t you know?) combined with glossy black vinyl “refined harlot” fetish footwear turn you into one sexy sociopath.

For a drop dead gore-geous do:

Flat iron hair within every inch of its life.
Then flat iron it again.

Skully hair accessories such as Dia De Los Muertos inspired hair flowers and “little ghoul lost” bows in a complementary crimson shade say “I’m playful, yet predatory”.

This week, renowned Buffalo, NY makeup artist Rachel Mazzie gives you the scoop on achieving truly KILLER eyes and lips.

Skin:

Step 1: Rachel applied a foundation primer all over my face in order to ensure a smooth, flake free application

Step 2: She then applied a liquid foundation with a foundation brush.

Step 3: To camouflage any discoloration of the skin, Rachel attacked trouble spots with a concealer corrector which she applied using a concealer brush.

Step 4: She finished by adding a dusting of translucent high definition powder to set the foundation in place.

Eyes:

Using a brush with a tapered edge, Rachel applied light purple pearl paint shadow to the outer lid.

She then proceeded to add some white shimmery shadow to the inner lid also with the help of a tapered edge brush .

Rachel accentuated the crease with some darker purple eye shadow which she applied using a crease brush.

Black falsies applied were applied to the lashes for an ultra dreamy gaze

Both top and bottom lids of the eye were lined with purple eye liner.

Cheeks:

Rachel swiped some pink blush on my cheekbones using a blush brush

Lips:

Rachel filled in my lips with pink lipliner. Then mixed pink lipstick with shiny sand hued lig gloss which she then applied to my lips using a small lip brush.

Q: “What do you think when you see a pretty girl walking down the street?”
A: “One side of me says, ‘I’d like to talk to her, date her’. The other side of me says, ‘I wonder how her head would look on a stick?”

–Edmund Kemper

Credits:

Photography:

Luke Copping
http://www.lukecopping.com

Model:

Vanity Kills
http://www.modelmayhem.com/vanitykills

MUA:

Rachel Mazzie
http://www.modelmayhem.com/rachelmazzie

Taken in the glorious basement of Prometheus 233 studios in Buffalo, NY.

<3

Vanity Kills