Fabulous Fascists!

Prince is the KING of fashionable fascists

Prince is the KING of fashionable fascists

I forget who said it (when in doubt, blame Diana Vreeland) but it’s true: fascists have the best uniforms. Imagine what they could do if they really let themselves go!

They could do this. From Pseudonymous (for obvious reasons) Middle Eastern Internet Artist Saint Hoax comes the ultimate recipe for a dictator.

The recipe for an iconic queen:
1- Flamboyant name
2- Fierce persona
3- Defining outfits
4- Personalized hairdo
5- A trademark feature
6- One hell of a PR teamI then realized that it takes that same exact effort to make a leader.
A rush of images containing Hitler’s mustache, Bin laden’s headgear, Obama’s campaigns, Saddam’s narcism crossed through my mind. It got me thinking that behind every “great” man, there’s a queen.Like drag queens, political/religious leaders are expected to entertain, perform and occasionally lip-sync a public speech.
But unlike drag queens, the fame hungry leaders don’t know when to take their costumes off.

Hitleria Hysteria

Hitleria Hysteria

Queen Abby

Popette Benny Madame O'Sane Georgia Buchette Vladdy Pushin Ossie B Baricka O'Bisha Kimmy Jungle
About these ads

Easy Riders

Why do sexists get a bum rap?

Why do sexists get a bum rap?

This is the kind of marketing we can all get behind.

MotoCorsa a Ducati dealership in Portland shot an entire series of stereotypical “hot girl with bike” shots with a red bike, releasing the portfolio as “seDucative” which, ha ha. Then they did the same shots, using men who worked at the shop as models. God only knows where they found a tube top that size, but they did.

It’s the details that make the shoot, like the fact that they called this “Manigale” in reference to the Ducati 1199 Panigale. And that they gave the guys 11/4″ heels instead of the 4″ ones the female model is wearing. Well, presumably if you work in a motorcycle shop you need to use your legs for something other than posing, and a charleyhorse could be a career-blocking impediment to a day spent…I dunno, chatting up Ben Affleck?

You can see the whole series at AsphaltAndRubber.

Hot Dog Legs has Legs

Octodogs are eight times as hawt

Octodogs are eight times as hawt

What does it take to create a Tumblr that’s destined to go viral? Apparently it takes either: a) a Snooki-brown tan, a modicum of body oil, a good waxer, and an absence of visible musculature OR b) meat by-products.

Insert post-feminist joke here.

Hot Dog Legs is the very latest in one-joke virality, the new star in the firmament which already contains Jay Z’s 99 problems and exploding actresses, among many, many others. Hey, it’s Summer, don’t over-think things!

This Tumblr doesn’t even have any words to process, so there’s no risk of brain overheating. The concept is simple: photograph after photograph of the “same” thing. Are they hot dogs, or are they legs? Is that self-tanner or natural? Are those smokies or cheddar-stuffed? What does this say about the objectification of women and the human beings as meat metaphor? I don’t know, pass me another Margarita.

There is, it must be said, something about these photos that brings to mind cheap sunglasses, menthol cigarettes, and calories ingested in liquid form.

The post-literate simplicity of the site has not interfered with its popularity (to continue with the Snooki comparison). Their Facebook fan page was created less than a month ago, on July 28, and still has 3,186 Likes. The page’s own Likes include Gawker media, Sausages, 7-11, and the infamous, and apparently horsemeat-containing Ikea hot dog.

A few notes for aspiring legs and hot dogs: corn dogs will never work, because ain’t nobody got a complexion that bad. An even tan is essential, as is skin thick enough that the veins don’t show through. Don’t even think about trying this if you haven’t shaved or waxed recently, even if you’re blonde. There will be zero crossover between this blog and, say, FuckYeahHairyLegs, although the respective models might be interested in exchanging phone numbers.

Twitpic O’ the Day: If You’re Not Helping, You’re Hurting

If you're not helping, you're hurting

If you’re not helping, you’re hurting

This post was inspired by a rather heated (40 or so comments) discussion on Facebook about whether misogyny within the ranks is holding back the Occupy movement. Make no mistake: it is. If you chart the flamewars on FB alone, the male individuals against female individuals flamewars are running about double the rate of the male on male flamewars, and this is AFTER the most sensitive women left the group altogether. This came as a huge, and saddening, surprise to me; I was raised in the era of Equality, when fighting for the rights of women was as accepted as fighting for the rights of black people or the handicapped. Apparently, when we were resting on our laurels and telling ourselves we’d come a long way, baby, things slipped backwards.

But silence is a form of collusion, as this image from AnonCircle points out, and it’s time to speak out.

One of the most telling signs of the backsliding: despite that thread being prominently featured in my friends’ news feeds and in various Occupy Vancouver Facebook groups and pages, I was the only woman who commented on it publicly. In a depressing version of “the lurkers are with me” I received many private messages of hearty support from women.

I, naturally, challenged them.

“If you think that, why do you not post it? Why are you telling ME that women deserve equal respect? I already know this.”

“Because I wanted you to know I support you.”

“Then support me. Take my left flank. POST.”

Result: one comment. One is an infinite times greater than zero, so I’m counting this as progress. Courage and support are not courage or support if they melt away like a vampire in daylight.

GPOY: Tiara Edition

GPOY Tiara Edition

GPOY Tiara Edition

The most revolutionary part of this picture? The absence of pink. I’m not kidding here: go to any children’s wear store and look around: PINKPINKPINKPINKPINK as far as the eye can see, right up to the boy’s department, which has every colour except pink. Why? Seriously, why? Is it in fact essential that total strangers be able to tell our children’s sex from three furlongs away? Or is it, come to think of it, kinda freaky, not to mention tacky?

I think you know my answer.