I Blame Loft Parties

Last thing I remember was taking a cab to our friend’s space in the Portland Storage Building. Ok, I mean, I remember more after that of course, kind of, but what I didn’t remember was where I left my notebook with all my CWPL ramblings and I’m just gonna go ahead and blame two things for this: 1. Jimi Pop and 2. The Blue Diamond.

Those two started it. I was just trying to interview the babe for a blog post and next thing I know I’m cabbing home at 4 am sans interview notes. She is my favorite and you can watch for her MUCH DELAYED article soon. Promise. Because I finally got that mother loving notebook back.

Until then, can we just talk about how I saw Spring Breakers this last weekend and have spent all my time since then singing Britney Spears songs and wishing I could wander around 24/7 in a bikini and some hi tops?? It’s bad.


This was a surprisingly good movie, right? I mean I knew it would full of boobs and beer and blah blah, but what I didn’t expect was that James Franco would actually be enjoyable to watch and that the girl camaraderie would be so locked in. I mean it’s actually a really girl-friend centric movie and I would write more on this here, but I’ma need to watch it again first. Because let’s face it, I was dog ass tired sitting in that theater. Tired from partying. Honestly the last thing I wanted to do was watch other people party, even that sounded exhausting, but now looking back I am super pleased that it exceeded my expectations.


Come on! Right? And as much as I am scouring the Dolls Kill website for neon, bud leaf motif, short shorts, I am also dying to do profiles on all of these actresses’ real life fashion because come on, you want to rip on Coachella-happy Vanessa Hudgens’s over-the-top hippie steez too, right?


I don’t get it. Is the tambourine an accessory? Or does she actually know how to keep a beat with that thing?? Also I would get super annoyed with a purse that low, bumping on my knees and shit as I walk and stomp my feet to the beat of my tambourine, but fuck if I don’t want a fringe purse! I do. Really bad. Have my heart set on one. Will throw up a post about that too so you can see. But for now I’m going to keep looking at The Urban Realist for ideas on which bathing suit/kicks combination I like best …


Peace out bitches. xoxo, Lou


Music Festival or Asshole Parade?

I don’t think I actually care that people completely change their fashion for three days of music in the California desert, but I do think it’s pretty ridiculous how many celebrities and “celebrities” go to Coachella every year just to see and be seen all while looking like they’re going to the hippie equivalent of a Renaissance Fair.

It’s just that, I read a lot of gossip blogs and I certainly don’t see the extent of celebrity fashion parading around Bonnaroo, Lolapalooza, or the lesser known Sasquatch in our very own PNW. If everyone wants to dress up like a slutty Woodstock flashback at Coachella, why don’t I have the pleasure of seeing the same ding dongs putting on flannels and grungy Doc Martins for Lolapalooa?

I’m guessing it has something to do with the fact that this particular festival is held in California, celebrity mecca, but still, every year around this time I chuckle to myself when I see things like this:

Vanessa Hudgens. Repeat Offender. Or how about this monstrosity:

Or Jesus Effing Christ, THIS. The ultimate hot mess of all hot messes…who just reminded me I need to write the post regarding my extreme dislike of these hideous Jeffery Campbell shoes:

It’s my humble opinion, but I even think Victoria Secret supermodels look pretty stupid exhibiting this much “Try.

Great legs though, Jesus:

I know we can’t all be natural fashion chameleons like Kate Moss, shown here at Glastonberry like she owns that shit. And I know..she fucks rock stars and sings and overall can do no fashion wrong, but still, it looks pretty natural for someone of her caliber to go from her regular clothing repertoire to straight up festival garb…unlike those idiots above who just look like they’re at an idiot parade.

I just think it would do us all some good, especially in Portland where costume is practically encouraged, and especially in summer when people do ridiculous things with their wardrobes, to remember how stupid you can look when you’re trying too hard. Coachella just happens to be my favorite example.

And while I was going to write about the threat to the integrity of the musicians when confronted with a cesspool of washed up starlets looking like a bad acid flashback, I realized I’d rather not get too serious. I’ll leave that to you and the comments section if you like. Or, you can, like me, just enjoy the asshole parade that descends on this music festival every year without fail. It’s so embarrassingly funny to me.