White By Design 4

There are many things to love about the color WHITE. For some, use of the color in their homes and wardrobe borders obsession, like that of the good friend of mine whom I wrote about in White By Design. That story has raised my antenna, ever on the lookout for extreme displays of white. It has inspired a series of White By Design stories, this being the 4th.

In New York City, choosing white takes on a spirit of defiance. Analogous to She's Too Tough To Care, wearing white is like saying I don't care that white makes no sense in New York City. We have rats, graffiti, pollution, dirt, and grime, but I will wear white anyway.

I have a pair of white bucks, which I wrote about in One Size Too Small. I have always gotten a very strong reaction when wearing them in the city. Apart from being a style whose time is long gone and unfamiliar to many, white suede is perhaps the ultimate act of defiance in the selection of shoe color and material to be worn in New York. Wearing white also sends a message that a person is willing and able to go the extra mile in maintaining such a color choice in the city.  In White By Design, I said:

Used badly, white can be a horrific choice - everything is mercilessly revealed with white. It is also deliberately and conspicuously impractical, making a statement about luxury and the ability and willingness for maintenance. The decision to use white in an unforgiving city like New York makes a particularly strong statement.

Black has been fashionable for eons, particularly in New York, where it is the color of choice for the downtown hipster. It is not uncommon to see individuals who dress entirely in black, head to toe. Black is cool, and when in doubt, black is safe. Given that thinking, what is safer than to dress entirely in black?

However, I do not recall seeing the polar opposite until yesterday. While waiting to cross the intersection at Spring Street and Broadway, a woman's wardrobe screamed out at me, so much so that reaching for my camera was not even a conscious decision but rather a reflex action. She was dressed (perhaps overdressed with a down jacket) in white from head to toe, topped with gray/white hair.

It was reminiscent of an LP I have kept for its startling cover image - Edgar Winter (an Albino) with white hair and beard, wearing a white suit and fur on a beach with white clouds in the background, akin to the polar bear in his natural snowy environment. Edgar, my friend, and the woman on Spring Street all share that passion for a color that nature often gives us. Or, when in New York City, and man-made elements conspire against nature to offer such pristine beauty, then it must and will be White By Design...

My musings on the color white: White By Design 2, White by Desire, White by Design 3, The Perfect Gift, Off-White by Design

I'll Take the Beret

I was in Gizzi's when a friend whispered to me that a short distance away was a classic throwback image: a woman wearing a bright red beret, sitting in a cafe. A bit pressured to catch her on camera, I learned only minutes later that she was one of the musical performers, affording me the opportunity for a more composed shot, appropriately with a framed photo of James Dean behind her.

One of the iconic elements of the Beat generation's dress was the beret. New York City was deeply entwined with the Beats, for a time the home of the man who invented the phrase itself: Jack Kerouac. The origins of the the Beats can be traced to Columbia University with the meeting of Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, Lucien Carr, Hal Chase, and others.

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One-Trick Pony

Not everyone is blessed with the depth and breadth of the Renaissance man. Often, a person may only have a singular talent, skill, idea, or gimmick which is clever but, like the one-tricky pony of early America, is not enough to build a world around. A circus needs more than one act.
However, in New York City, with careful husbandry and aggressive marketing, one can cultivate even the most singular ideas and make a splash. In some cases, entire careers can be built around one trick, like the Naked Cowboy. Others, who are less ambitious, more interested in casual fun, or just want to enjoy the occasional limelight and ego boost can enjoy a degree of notoriety. Characters often frequent regular events or become neighborhood institutions - the proverbial big fish in the small pond. People like Spike or André, for example, are household names in the Village.

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Simple, But Effective

I imagine you had to be there to appreciate the humor. The same man who swore that there was no reason not to move to Santa Barbara (see Not Going Anywhere here) was known for his pithy aphorisms. Some years ago, he offered one of my favorites.

When fanfare, drama, and over-the-top displays are all around, how do you distinguish yourself? If you have traveled to Dyker Heights, Brooklyn, during the Christmas holiday season, you know what I am talking about (see stories here and here; see photo galleries here and here). With fierce pride, ego, and in the one-upmanship style often found among New York City residents, the Christmas displays in Dyker Heights have reached outrageous proportions. You're certainly not going to stand out or even be noticed unless you take a radically different approach. And not everyone has the financial means or the motivation to stage a Disneyesque extravaganza on their front lawn.

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King of Accordion

Barry does not ask for much. He only wants to be known as the King of Accordion. But the media attention he has received spins him the way it wants, so to the media, he is the King of whatever works best to suit their needs, including the front man to a recent Occupy Wall Street march. A little spin or artistic license often makes a story more enjoyable to read - I have been guilty of that myself. My writing has evolved from the fact-reporting style of the news journalist to one that is highly personal, weaving in connections from my life experience that are triggered by the place, person, or thing which I write about.

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Garish Glory

There's no reason to apologize if the offense is within the eye of the beholder.

There's just something about Spandex World that everyone in my office loves. It's a playground for the eye and hand. All that stretch. All that selection. For a riot of color, it's hard to beat an emporium of brightly covered fabrics like Spandex World.

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You Can't Outsource Plumbing

I recall once putting on Docker pants and a pair of topsider-styled shoes and feeling a bit too conservative. After all, I am a Village resident, not someone living in Greenwich, Connecticut. I asked a friend if my dress was too preppy. She replied, "I love preppy." This was rather surprising, coming from a young woman who was East Village edgy. I was intrigued.

At times, she would comment longingly on the light color of my skin. She would comment on the beauty of white women. Eventually I got to the bottom of it. She told me outright that she hated being Chinese and would love nothing better than to be a beautiful, white supermodel. Sad, really, because she really had no need whatsoever for that transformation other than the marketing of women. She was a New York City resident, intelligent, well-educated, had a great career, and was very popular, with a heart of gold and a great personality. And I knew a little about models.

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Buy Magnesium

Once lit, magnesium produces light so bright that it will burn the retinas in your eyes. It burns so hot that if water is sprayed on it, rather than putting the fire out, the heat will break the water down and separate the hydrogen and oxygen atoms, which in turn feed the fire. This is the whitest light produced by burning a substance.

I think So Good Jewelry must be using magnesium to light their stores. They are BRIGHT.  When I say bright, I don't mean what you think may be bright. I mean magnesium so bright that it burns the retina and wakes the dead. For photographers, this place is a perfect tutorial for overexposure. Walking down 4th Street at night, I was astounded by the brightness. The place beamed me in.

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Birds of a Feather Tied Together Part 2

This is Part 2 of a two-part story. See Part 1 here.



On March 5, I attended Pratt Institute's annual juggling festival (sadly, their last). I have attended many of these over the last 36 years of business and in many ways these events are like family reunions to me - an opportunity to reconnect with many customers, some of whom I have known for decades.

This is a subculture and over the years, other subcultures allied themselves, particularly the poi and fire spinning community and most recently, hoopers - see Viktoria's Secret here and Supercute here. Many are part of the Burning Man community. The festival was held in a large gym and from time to time I would circulate, invariably meeting newcomers.

My eye was drawn to a small group where hair was being examined. I made the acquaintance of Allison Kocar (upper left photo) who, it turns out, was a customer and had been to my showroom but I had never personally met. She was engaged in conversation about her hair extensions which I found extremely striking. I learned that these were rooster feathers, dyed various colors.

I wanted to learn more and do a story. I asked her who does this type of hair installation. She knew of a couple of women. We exchanged emails and within a few days received two names. I chose to contact Masha Lunara - the name sounded intriguing. Masha was extremely receptive to my request to photograph a session. On Saturday April 16, she arranged an afternoon with six models.

Everything was set and I left for for a boutique located at 47-38 Vernon Boulevard in Long Island City, Queens. I had expected a hair cutting salon, but found instead Etherea L.I.C., a clothing boutique. I was expected, I was greeted by Adriana the owner and asked if I was the photographer. Masha had called, concerned she was running a little late. No matter to me, it was a rainy day and I had set aside the afternoon.

Masha arrived, quite feathered and easily mistaken for a bird. She explained that for her, this was a spiritual process and that she typically sets up her work space as a virtual altar. Over the course of the afternoon, six women had hair extensions done. The variety of hair styles and colors ran the gamut. Decisions had to be made jointly by both the client and Masha - how many feathers and what color(s). I had full cooperation in a controlled environment, so taking photos was a pleasure. See my photo gallery here.

For some reason I had expected the environment of the hair stylist - running water, shampoo etc. However, the process involved only a few special tools and supplies - pliers for crimping, small tubular silicone coated micro links, hair clamps, a hair hook threading tool, scissors and hair clamps. Hair and a feather are slipped through the micro beads and crimped in place. They can be easily moved or removed.

Feather extensions can be washed, blow-dried, brushed or even curled. They can last up to several months. I can understand the attraction since the extensions are semi-permanent and not damaging to the hair in any way. The end result is quite natural looking and when using undyed feathers and matched to a woman's hair color, blends nicely.

Two and a half hours, the pleasant cooperation of six women and 111 photos later and I should have been satisfied, but I was curious about this rooster business. Perhaps I would be able to find a nearby rooster farm to take photos and include in this story. However, some investigation and I quickly learned that these were not ordinary rooster feathers at all. And all roads seem to lead to Whiting Farms in Delta, Colorado.

My call of inquiry was met with a very pleasant response. I did not expect to speak to the man, however I was told that Tom preferred taking these calls himself. I called the next day - Tom was extremely congenial, apologizing for not returning my call the previous evening as it was too late. He answered all my questions along with follow up emails.

Tom Whiting holds a PhD in poultry genetics. The roosters are bred specifically for the fly fisherman. The Whiting line derives from the genetic stock of early pioneers in breeding for dry flies: Hary Darbee, Andy Miner, Ted Hebert and Henry Hoffman. In 1989, Whiting purchased the Hoffman business. Birds are raised for about one year to obtain the quality needed before harvesting. Whiting Farms supplies over 650 shops worldwide. The feathers are sold as pelts. The grizzly hackle is most desired. The subject is deep and broad. If you are interested in more details, see the Whitings farm website here, a short film here. Tom Whiting supplied me with an official statement directed towards women concerned with the raising, treatment and harvesting of roosters for feathers. You can read it here.

Feather extensions are fast becoming the rage with fashionistas and Hollywood celebrities, male and female. Salons nationwide are getting into the trend and the Internet is full of dealers, supplies and videos. The demand however has resulted in a shortage of feathers, with women purchasing feathers from fishing supply shops. When visiting the Urban Angler for Part 1 of this story (see here), staff member Tony confirmed this trend at their shop with women coming in and purchasing bundles of hackles at once.

With some shops out of stock, many anglers are not pleased to be competing with the fashion industry for fine feathers. Tom Whiting takes it all in stride, anticipating that this will be a short-lived trend. But for the time being, fishermen will have to share a crowded nest with fashion and find they are Birds of a Feather Tied Together :)

Note: My thanks to the models and Masha Lunara. You can contact Masha here.

Birds of a Feather Tied Together Part 1

My father was a passionate fly fisherman. By passionate, I mean obsessed, often having to use various ruses to deflect his interest, which was, unfortunately for him, very thinly veiled. On family trips or drives, he would often point out some appealing aspect of the surrounding landscape, to which my mother would immediately comment "NO. We are not going fishing. Forget it." She had mastered these preemptive strikes long ago, having put in her time as a fisherman's widow as a young wife. She now knew all to well that in every natural setting, there is likely a stream with fish - fish who catch husbands.

I never went fishing - the trips were too early and infrequent. Always curious about this obsession, I later learned the reason for the fly fisherman's passion. My father is a quiet man and it took someone more verbal to explain it to me. Catching fish is a challenge. In some cases, there are specific fish in a lake which are legendary - so clever that they can not be caught and even go by name. In fly fishing there are skills to master, insects to study, knowing the type of fish to fish for, different conditions, flies to select and tailor to the situation and a myriad of other nuances to consider.

Fly tying of artificial flies is art and science. There is a selection of feathers, both common and exotic, other materials and tools. Some tiers invent their own fly designs. These are often coveted and shrouded in secrecy - fish can become acquainted with flies and a new or lesser used design can provide a decided edge over other fishermen. To share that design means to dilute its effectiveness. My father once invented an effective fly which he shared with a friend only to later find that it was becoming known miles away throughout Pennsylvania. Rather than see this as a personal compliment, he was furious

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Then there is where to fish. A fly fisherman is forever on a quest for that secret place where wild fish run rampant. Of course every other fly fisherman is on the same quest. Some will travel to locations so remote that they are inaccessible except by private plane. My father tells tales of the fishing in the back woods of Maine, using a vehicle with winches to pull themselves through particularly difficult dirt roads to some particular fishing mecca. But the end result - perhaps native or wild brook trout is ample reward for the fish lover.

In the 1980s, I decided that it was time for my father to own a high quality rod and reel, so I consulted with an old college friend who was an avid outdoors man. At the time, graphite rods were coming on to the market - these were the latest and greatest thing. To see this kind of performance had previously meant a bamboo fly rod, a very expensive proposition. I was surprised to learn that my shopping needs for fly fishing could be met in midtown Manhattan at the Urban Angler, a shop renowned amongst fishing enthusiasts and aficionados worldwide.

I recently visited the Urban Angler at 206 Fifth Avenue which I had wanted to do for this website for some time. The shop was founded in 1988 by Steve and his son Jon Fisher. The staff was accommodating to my photography needs. Tony, a native from Argentina and avid fly fisherman, guided me through the shop and answered questions. The shop is quite beautiful, situated in a third floor office building, overlooking Madison Square Park.

This story, however, really has little to do with fishing. I went to Urban Angler for a very different reason. In Part 2, you will learn some secrets about an unusual and unexpected connection between people of different worlds. If you promise to keep it secret, I will show you why there are many different Birds of a Feather Tied Together :)

Six Geese a-Laying

Not so long ago, only in the early 1990s, when walking through SoHo, I would see large bales of rags with the streets littered with small remnants. I would often pickup a piece, examine it and postulate as to its composition and history. A little known fact about SoHo is that for a time it was known as the rags, woolens and remnants district.

SoHo was also a manufacturing district and an absolute ghost town during the evenings and weekends. So extraordinary, owing to the fact that it was centrally located and circumscribed by Greenwich Village, Little Italy, Chinatown and Canal Street. You can read about my first acquaintance with the terms "loft" and "SoHo" in my story Cast Iron Stomach. Given its cast-iron architecture and location, the rapid development and gentrification of SoHo comes as no surprise.

But one of the most startling encounters, an anomaly even for that time, was a fully operational blow molding factory making dolls on the ground floor at Mercer and Prince Streets, now occupied by the Mercer Hotel, an upscale boutique hotel. When passing by in the morning, I would often jump up on a standpipe or on the ground floor window ledge to peer into the windows which had been masked in the lower portions. I was just fascinated to see dolls popping out of blow molding machines. This is one of my strongest memories of SoHo - such a contrast to today's environment, that I often replay those memories just to ensure their veracity. I wish I had photos for you and I, but alas, I do not.

Sans Fanelli Cafe, there was no retail. Even ground floor spaces were used for commercial/industrial purposes - unthinkable today with the high rents. So to see two girls carrying six Bloomingdale's shopping bags between them and one girl shouldering a Louis Vuitton bag* while carrying a cup of coffee from Dean and Deluca was a jolt, both as a flagrant act of conspicuous consumption as well as a memory jog of how SoHo has changed.

I have often joked that we should make Christmas a perennial holiday, since advertising and shopping begin earlier each year. Here, however, the hordes on the streets of SoHo are often virtually indistinguishable from the huddled masses we expect during the holiday season. One of my first reactions was that these bags did not look full at all and that the contents could easily have been consolidated into fewer bags. But, perhaps these girls just started Christmas shopping a little early and in the bottoms of their sacks, we would find Six Geese a-Laying :)

* Yes, I realize in all likelihood this bag is a fake, easily procured in the vicinity of Chinatown. Not many are willing to spend $1000 plus for the genuine article.

Front Window

One of the worst living scenarios in New York City is an apartment on a ground floor. I lived for a couple years like this in Chelsea on 23rd Street - there was zero privacy unless you kept your shades drawn. It was like living on stage in the spotlight. I had instances where passersby would try to talk to me. On one occasion, I was propositioned by someone sexually.

I can understand the impulse to peer into the windows of others. It is very difficult to avoid at least a casual glance into an apartment where people and contents are visible from the street. At night, strolling residential streets with illuminated interiors is akin to walking the corridors of a museum, except here, the displays are not of things from times past, but of real people and real lives - a living laboratory.

On April 29, 2009, I wrote a story, Rear Window, inspired by the Hitchcock classic film of the same name. However, I don't have a rear window in my home. I have front windows to the street and I am blessed with park views. I have featured vistas from these windows in various seasons - see White By Design 2, Wood Glass Brass and Trees, Signs of Summer, and Enchanted April. But these windows rarely provide me with photo opportunities other than nature shots. Observing the people and places in the city that are worthy of reading and writing about requires walking the streets, riding the trains, visiting structures, attending festivals and spending time in the parks.

I keep a camera with me at all times with no exceptions. Although a point-and-shoot camera does not always provide the ability to photograph subjects with the best quality under all conditions, I am finding more and more that many of the most interesting captures, particularly with people, are pure happenstance. Serendipity is the operative here, and better to have shot and lost quality than not to have shot at all. I still talk of my regret over some terrific lost opportunities - some because I had no camera, others because I was not decisive enough, considering whether something was worthy or waiting for better conditions.

Regarding today's photo, this was a real shocker to me. I caught this woman sitting behind the window in Starbucks while I was walking on 6th Avenue in the Village. I am at a loss as to the reason for a display of extreme matching: luggage, pants, shoes, jacket and hat. I was not motivated to go in as I might normally be and learn the story behind the wardrobe. This would require that I make her acquaintance, chit chat and get the facts in a diplomatic way without any intended insult. So for today, it's just a look through a Front Window :)

Lured by the Luxuriant

One of the most interesting things about New York City, is that in spite of the myriad of groups and individuals who are militant regarding so many issues, there is still tremendous tolerance.

The sale and wearing of fur is a hotly debated and highly contentious matter, yet it is very surprising that an individual can sell or wear furs in Manhattan and survive unscathed.

On Broadway and Spring Street, I witnessed an unusual occurrence - the sale of genuine vintage furs on the street. The vendors informed me that these were purchased from a theater company which had gone out of business. The subject of used or vintage furs is also debated - some feel the damage has been done, so why not recycle and use the furs? Others feel that wearing of fur of any type sends the wrong message, that fur is OK - how would others know that you wear a fur for that reason?

The prices ranged in the low hundreds for furs which would have originally cost in the low thousands. There was a flurry of interest and activity with women trying on furs. Always prepared and equipped with the necessary sales accoutrement, this street vendor also had a full length mirror. One coat being tried on had a tear in the stitching. No worry here either - the vendor said he had sewing materials and could easily repair it.

I brushed my hand against a number of these coats - nothing feels so extraordinarily luxuriant as genuine fur. The white fox was particularly beautiful. However, I can never fully "enjoy" the experience of fur, feeling a bit like Cruella de Vil. Too many protests, anti-fur campaigns and awareness of how they got to that rack makes the whole thing feel like the epitome of fetishistic self-indulgence. Much like a chocoholic looking to control their intake, if you have misgivings about furs, best to stay away. Otherwise I can assure you, you will be Lured by the Luxuriant...

Other Stories about Furs: Barbie in Furs, Surrounded by Fur.

Hair

On our recent warm spell, people flooded the parks and streets like it was a spring day. A woman with quite the head of hair immediately caught my eye. Thinking I was now an expert in yarn falls after meeting Bex Burton (see The Women here), I took a brisk walk, met Shannon Moran and asked if I could photograph her and her yarn falls. I was informed, however, that I was in error. These were not yarn falls at all, but in fact entirely her own hair, which go down to her knees.

There is probably nothing that can define, change or improve a person's appearance as simply and dramatically as a hairstyle. The face is the mirror of the mind and the window to the soul. Hair frames the face. It is the part of our physical makeup that we can most easily alter. And alter again. Of course there are limitations to control - hair loss and baldness for most men is a nagging horror.

Some may leave home in any number of unimaginable modes of dress, but few will leave without combing their hair. For many, what appears to be lack of concern or no style, is itself a style. Hair care ranges from simple grooming to an obsession. It's an industry. For most women, hair is paramount in their daily grooming rituals and, understandably, a source of perpetual dissatisfaction and frustration. It can make or break a look.

As incredulous as it may seem, when I attended high school in the late 1960s, a boy's hair that just touched one's ears was grounds for a formal reprimand and parental notification. Long hair could even lead to expulsion. The Beatles were a scandal as much for their mop-top haircut as their music. Short by today's standards, a Beatles haircut was an outrage and banned in schools. Beatles mop-top wigs were available and even a Beatles’ hair care line.

In New York City, 1967, we had Hair: The American Tribal Love-Rock Musical, conceived and written by actors James Rado and Gerome Ragni. Many cast members were recruited from the streets. Joe Papp, who ran the New York Shakespeare Festival, opened his new Public Theater in the East Village with a production of the show. Hair was Papp's first non-Shakespeare offering.

Hair was a tribute to the hippie movement and the protests of all that was wrong with America - racism, environmental destruction, poverty, sexism and sexual repression, politics and the Vietnam war. There was drab clothing, rejection of materialism, nudity, sexual freedom, drugs, pacifism, environmentalism and astrology.

But in this huge panoply of themes, symbols and philosophies, none was more more important than the name of the show itself, Hair - an ever present, visible, statement about personal beliefs. Long hair almost always signified defiance, rejection of the societal norm and the evils of the "military industrial complex."

Today, the role of hair (along with skin treatment, i.e. tattoos and piercing) is just as important. Perhaps somewhat more a fashion statement, hair and tattoos will still often say something about a person's lifestyle. Shannon says:

I got my dreads 9 years ago - at the time we were squatting, train hopping and causing mayhem around the country. They go to my knees and are 100% real, natural and home grown. I have many tattoos and will continue to chace my goal of becoming a completely illustrated lady. I have over 30 hours of work scattered all over my body - my favorite being Nick Cave lyrics "Come into my sleep" on my ribs - but I do adore my recent addition - a mustache on my finger.

I learned that Shannon, 22, was born in Shirley, New York and is currently a resident of Astoria, Queens. She is a photographer, having studied at FIT and Cooper Union.

I am very interested in vintage erotic photography and obsessively produce my own. I have an alter ego - Lux Berlin - you may have seen my work exhibited in galleries in Chelsea, Brooklyn and the UK. I can be found drinking red wine, swearing like a sailor and dishing out bad advice on the beaches of Fire Island, marching topless down a board walk in Coney Island or shimmying and shaking somewhere in the Lower East Side.

For now, my work is done here. And I need to check my hair :)

Note: If you are comfortable viewing erotic material, you can see Shannon's website here.

Twinship

Their first names seemed to be only a formality - they were always the twins. They lived in the same house and seemed to be forever destroying the same things, banging on the same drums or involved in equally uninteresting things. They were identical twins and to me, identical. They were my first cousins on my father's side and about my age. However, the truth of the matter is that I had little desire to know them well enough to tell them apart or know them as individuals.

I have a large extended family of aunts, uncles, and first cousins. My twin cousins had three other siblings. On the occasional visit to their home, invariably there were other families and cousins as well, so I had many options for socializing. I barely knew the twins.

Twins have a unique bond and relationship that most of us will never know. Many older school identical twins saw themselves as a unit even through adulthood, living together, wearing identical clothes, etc. My twin cousins were not that extreme, however, they were addressed and treated as a unit for as long as I can remember.

Recently on my way to a taping session of the Ferris Butler Program, I was taken aback by two women who just exuded twinship. I loved their hats - they were so striking. They both had very similarly styled full-length down jackets, one brown, one green. Everything was bathed in a yellow/green light. I did not get the opportunity to chat with these women on my short subway ride and learn about their relationship. We share a twinship on this one, because your guess is as good as mine :)

Note: I am very happy to report that I have begun to know the twins better as adults. I recently spent an afternoon chatting with one and found him to be one of the nicest, most thoughtful people I have met. Now that I think about it, I'm not absolutely sure which one it was and also, I think his brother might be really nice too :)

"The Women"

When I was a child at family gatherings, people grouped by sex and age, some occurring naturally and some of it planned. Often, when large numbers came together and it was mealtime, children would be relegated to the basement to sit together at a folding card table. We made the best of it to sit and eat in that dank, dreary, sunless, subterranean place. It was clear we did not have adult status and that kitchen or dining room tables were prime real estate.

At other times there was a division of the sexes, a natural tendency. In our household, however, my mother would make an announcement something like "why don't the men go in the other room and the women can stay here and talk." The sexes were referred to in the third person, even the announcer and her entourage. It was always "the men" and "the women."

The problem is I never really liked being with "the men" - it was typically synonymous with watching sports on TV. I sought out the women, who appeared to have more meaningful conversations on a variety of subjects and were very comfortable socially.

I recently attended a hooping event at a bar in midtown Manhattan. Although there were a handful of men attending, this event was primarily dominated by women, to be expected in the hooping community. I was there as an equipment maker to meet, greet, show and tell. However, it should come as no surprise that I soon found a room where "the women" were socializing.
I was drawn to Bex Burton, fascinated with her mountain of hair.

Bex is a woman whose life straddles many of the alternative worlds of occupation and recreation. Perhaps surprising to some, but New York City is no stranger to new agism, body work, healing or even Burning Man devotees (she has attended 3 years). People adorned like Rebecca typically do not shun attention (she has over 1000 images on her Facebook page), so it is not surprising that she was very receptive to allowing me to photograph her, agree to this story, supply a detailed life history and, of course, tell me about her hair:

"I have yarn and synthetic hair extensions, installed by Dana Devine, The Goddess Maker. The yarn that comprises my hair is a combination of wool, mohair, roving (equivalent to the same lambs' wool I once lined my point shoes with!) acrylic gold (which makes it sparkle), and a silk yarn that's made from sari's from India. The extensions were installed on Friday 8/13, the day before my birthday and massive boat party, and 2 weeks before my departure to Burning Man. Dana was at my house for 12 hours, though I believe we actually worked for about 8-9 hours. We took many breaks, as it's pretty intense work for a long haul."

"Over time the yarn will "felt" together, forming dreadlocks. I encouraged the felting by braiding and wrapping each yarn cluster to keep them tidy and avoid cross-cluster felting. The conditions of Burning Man are extremely conducive to this type of hair, as the dust encourages the felting, the wool keeps your body warm at night, and the segmentation of hair at the scalp keeps you air conditioned during the daytime. I washed the yarn the first time after Burning Man in Reno with organic dish soap. Other detergents are more likely to leave residue. I suppose Woolite would work too, as the process is similar to washing your favorite wool sweater. The wool dried within hours thanks to Reno's desert climate, and thank goodness because a head full of wet wool is h-e-a-v-y. Drying in NYC takes quite a bit longer, more like 24 hours. I employ the sham-wow technique cityside."

Bex was born in Newport, Rhode Island and moved to New York City in 2005. I asked about her education:

"I have a Bachelor of Science degree in Television / Radio production from Ithaca College. My focus of study was Video Production. I held four internships in college in two different cities. After which I determined I didn't want to work in television, so I completed my studies producing video art (and earning the highest grades of my academic career). Following school I pursued Video, but quickly realized I wanted to create movement, rather than capture it."

Currently, she is a Pilates Instructor, Thai Massage practitioner, Hula Hoop Performer and teacher. She also told me some about her family life:

"I come from a military family. My dad is a retired Naval Captain, and my brother is an active duty Lt. Commander helicopter pilot. When I was young there was discussion of me following the same path. (gasp!) At this point, I am fully committed to my artistic life and look, and my family is wonderfully supportive and happy for me."

Today, Bex is removing her yarn extensions, a process she says will take all day. After reading a few stories on this website, she says:

"Also, similar to Jenn's story, your timing is amazing. I'm scheduled to remove the extensions TOMORROW. I'll quickly cut and color, and prep for FEATHER locks on Monday."

Good luck to Rebecca and thanks, for these are the things you can learn if you spend time with "the women." :)

Abandon All Preconceived Notions Ye Who Enter Here

The Story of Jenn Kabacinski, Part 2 (see Part 1 here)

Jenn has been stressing a little bit about her birthday. Today is Jenn's 30th.

From her first email last week:

My birthday is actually next week. The big 3-0. I know turning 30 won't change a damn thing about me but I can't resist complaining about it anyway.

From her second email to me:

My birthday on the 8th. Pee Wee on Broadway on the 10th. [Pee Wee Herman was my high school sweetheart... only he never knew anything about it]. My anniversary on the 11th. I'm excited about everything except the turning 30 part.

What can I tell Jenn to reassure her about aging? That 30 is really young and her whole life is before her? That she can still do virtually anything she wants? All true. But empty words when you hit those mile markers on life's highway. I won't lie to you Jenn or insult by giving you the "wisdom" of an older person. I don't like aging either.

Jenn speaks of her heritage:

My last name is Kabacinski. It's pronounced how it's spelled. I didn't take my husband's name because I almost find that disrespectful to my dad. I'll always be my dad's daughter - married or not. I think the world of him. ... I'm a European mutt. Dad's Polish and German. Mom's Irish, German, Swedish, Scottish, English, Welsh, and Danish too.

Jenn is no poser. She is as authentic a New Yorker as they come:

I was born and raised in Brooklyn - Gowanus... South Slope... whatever people are calling it now. ... My parents were born and raised in Brooklyn. Their parents, if not born and raised in Brooklyn, at least lived here most of their lives. Same neighborhood too actually. So I have Gowanus Brooklyn blood running through these veins.

Jenn is very close to her family:

And I lived with my parents for most of my life. I lived with them until I got married. Even when I moved three blocks away from them, I was there all of the time so I might as well have been paying them rent then too. Ha.

I did the whole move in with the current boyfriend [while dragging my sister along] stint in 2005 but that only lasted the year. I moved back home shortly after the MTA hired me.

I'm super super close with my parents. My mom and I used to joke about us being our version of Grey Gardens if it was just us. And I'm definitely daddy's little girl even though I'm the oldest.

Her marriage to Anthony:

This is my one and only marriage. I never really believed in monogamy or *love and marriage* in the traditional sense before Anthony. I didn't think any of that was natural but getting to know him instantly screwed those beliefs all up. I was suggesting to him within that first month that we should get married and three months later, we were in Vegas exchanging vows and rings in front of Elvis.

I ended up moving to Staten Island last year for a few months after Anthony and I got married. He was born in Brooklyn but lived in Staten Island most of his life. I'm a Brooklyn girl at heart but you're supposed to sacrifice for the ones you love, right? Anyway, I couldn't take that ferry anymore [I can't drive] so I kidnapped him and we've been back in Brooklyn since June.

Jenn talks of her love of school and work:

I took the 6-year plan in college [I went to Brooklyn College] because I wasn't sure what I wanted to study. I actually liked school. If I could be a professional student, I would. But I ended up majoring in both Philosophy and Early Childhood Education and minoring in Math. I wanted to teach Pre-K or Kindergarten but the MTA ended up calling me once I graduated. I did tutor and work for summer camps and after school centers but that was all part-time. I loved it but I love money and benefits more so now the MTA owns my soul. I'm a Train Conductor. Yes. I'm that person in the middle of the train opening and closing the doors and making those wonderful announcements.

The MTA also introduced me to my husband [he's a Conductor also and that's how I met him] so it makes it all the better. And my sister is actually a Conductor too. We're taking them over. They just don't know it yet.

Jenn talks of her appearance:

As for my "goth" look... I don't know what to say about it. I wouldn't actually consider myself goth. I wouldn't actually consider myself anything. How original... I know. It takes me maybe a half hour to put the face on. It used to be more dramatic and colorful years ago but I don't have the patience for that anymore. I don't really encounter any problems. Some looks. Some comments. Some bad. Some good. I like it so I'll continue to do it as long as I do like it. I think it works for me. It doesn't bother my family as far as I know. My parents are used to it and any other family should be too. My sister's look is kinda sorta similar so I'm sure they all realize that's just us by now. And now that I think about it, my mom had that crazy permed poofy 80s hair with the black eyeliner and red lipstick when I was growing up so I guess we can blame my offshoot on her. The look runs in the family. ;)

And her final words to me:

But yes, I think it's time to get lost in your website for a bit before Anthony gets home from practice. I hope this is what you wanted and I hope it didn't end up being too wordy. My fingers can get carried away. Thanks again and it was awesome meeting you Brian.

... thanks for giving me the opportunity to ramble about myself. Broads usually love that. And I think you found yourself a new soon to be regular reader of your blog. I did lose myself in it for almost two hours last night. I love reading about your own personal experiences in NYC and abroad and I love how you highlight things that would normally just be overlooked by the typical NYer you find now [that happens not to be an actual NYer]. So thank you again.

Thank you Jenn for being so candid and forthcoming and letting the world share the life a real New Yorker. It was awesome meeting you too. Oh, and Happy Birthday and Happy Anniversary from all of us!

Abandon All Preconceived Notions Ye Who Enter Here

The Story of Jenn. Part 1.


There is a very good reason this story must be told TODAY, before Monday, when I will reveal why.

I was at a concert October 23rd in Tompkins Square Park featuring a number of bands, including David Peel. Scanning the sparse crowd, the photo subject du jour was immediately obvious - a Goth Girl accompanied by a Man in Black.

Just take a photo - you don't need permission. This is a public park, many are taking photos and certainly a woman that looks like this must be somewhat of an attention hound.

Yes, but to take a photo or two at close range is a bit awkward. This is not a crowd shot - it will be very obvious you are taking her photo. And if you get her cooperation, not only will you be comfortable taking more photos, you will also feel better as a human and will likely have an opportunity to chat about her appearance.

So I decided to approach the couple and ask if they minded I take photos. The response was an immediate "Us? Sure!" A few photos later and we were on to the interview portion of the afternoon. I had already made a number of assessments - she was a rebel, not particularly well employed or educated and perhaps a resident of the East Village.

The Man in Black, Anthony told me that in fact they were married. Surprise number one. I asked him if his wife, Jenn, looks like this just for special occasions. He told me that she looks like this "pretty much all the time." To which I thought, where does this person work, if at all? At an East Village boutique? I was not interested in tempering my inquiry, so I just asked Jenn "Do you work?" "Yes" "Where do you work?" (wanting to add "looking like that"). "I AM A SUBWAY CONDUCTOR"

WOW. Of course - what better place for a Morticia lookalike to work than the subterranean depths of New York City. "Do they care that you look like this?" "Not at all." Perfect. And her husband, Anthony? ALSO A SUBWAY CONDUCTOR. The MTA is where they met. A friend in tow was a conductor too. Jenn's sister is a subway conductor. They're taking over.

I still had many unanswered questions about her childhood, family life, where she grew up, her education, etc. Jenn agreed to continue the dialog by email. I emailed Jenn with a number of questions on October 28.

I was very disappointed however. My email to her was not answered (nor bounced back). Six days later on November 3, and after giving up, I finally received a response explaining that my email had found its way into a spam folder, similarly to my experience with Driss Aqil (see here).

Jenn provided not just answers but an 840 word biography. A simple follow up question returned a 540 word clarification. I now had enough material for a documentary. Everyone has a life story. But this is Jenn's and like many New Yorkers, it's has many surprises and some edge. With a Special Event on Monday...

Halloween Parade 2010

Each year since 2006, I have attended and photographed the annual Village Halloween Parade and posted photos here. The event continues to overwhelm in every way - size, creativity and attendance with every imaginable costume theme - fanciful, whimsical, horrible, ghoulish, political or inspired by current events or products. It is only possible to see a tiny fraction of the myriad of costumes even when present. I have selected from the over 400 photos I took at this year's parade - additional photos are located here. See the links below for the previous years - these postings have parade information, photos with the posting as well as additional galleries for each year.

Previous postings on the annual Village Halloween Parade:
Halloween Parade Preview 2006, Halloween Parade 2006, Village Parade 2007 Preview, Village Halloween Parade 2007, Village Halloween Parade 2007 Part 2. Halloween Parade 2008, Halloween Parade 2008 Part 2, Halloween Parade 2009.

In Industry

I recently was designing carrying bags for my product line. Outsourcing for a small business in small quantities is not viable, so we turned to domestic sources. This process was also getting us nowhere, so I decided to go local. If you want to understand the beauty of a manufacturing district, than go through the design development to production phase of a product where all your suppliers are within walking distance of each other. The ease and speed is astounding.

Within a span of two New York City blocks, I was able to procure fabric, hardware, sewing accessories, visit a sewing contractor and get pricing. If you have a pattern and materials, you can often even get a finished sample while you wait. If you are designing new products, this typically requires many revisions. Once you have gone through this process within the garment district, any other way becomes almost unthinkable.

The networking and referrals also greatly accelerate the sourcing process. Rather than hunt through the myriad of vendors for a particular piece of hardware, one supplier gave me the name and address of a specialty house one block away. A quick walk and I had exactly what I wanted.

The garment industry is really one of the last industries New York City has left where the entire supply chain is located in one area, from design to production of finished products. We've lost enough in New York City, and anyone with any history and familiarity with New York sees the danger in losing the garment and fashion industry. There is concern over this matter and efforts are being made to keep the industry in the city.

Step into one of those spartan, all stainless steel elevators in the west 30s. Step off and find your way down a dimly lit hallway to a sewing factory, buzzing with machines. This is not the New York City of movies, entertainment, architecture, glamour, glitz or fine dining.
This is New York at work. In Industry :)