Watching the Throne

image source: here

Last night, I became the envy of millions as I had the privilege to "Watch the Throne," Jay-Z and Kanye West's collaborative effort to revolutionize the world of rap. Although these two have solidified their respective positions at the top of the rap hierarchy, spectators were so diverse. There was obviously an overwhelming following of avid rap fans, marked by the millions of diamonds held proudly in the air. But the Bell Center filled its seats with all kinds of different people. Proof that people still have a profound appreciation for raw talent.

I myself was one of those spectators with no expectations, considering my unfamiliarity with rap as a genre. Yet, as a stood among my friends who had finally unleashed their contained excitement, I was overwhelmed with awe. I can't remember the last time I left the Bell Center feeling so profoundly impacted by such an incredible performance. What was most rewarding, however, was seeing them smile in response to the roaring praise Montrealers communicated from beginning to end.

When the big screens behind the stage weren't projecting images of wild animals or both current and past global issues,  they closely zoomed in on the artists. This was the most interesting for me, as I felt as though I got exclusive insight into their world,  their side of the story. The camera often captured shots behind them, so that spectators could see the show from their eyes. There are no words to describe these images. A true sea of flashing lights and emotional chants. I can't imagine what it must feel like to see your success in the form of millions screaming your name and singing along to every word of your life's work.

The way the two Kings chose to dress was also incredibly reflective of their personal styles and performances. When they performed together, the contrast in dress was so representative of their current positions in the rap music industry. Jay-Z ignited the frenzy in his dedicated fans as he performed the old school songs that made him famous. He stayed true to his "all black everything" mentality throughout the entire show, complimented by his iconic New York Yankees cap. A true indication of an incredibly honest performance. Kanye, on the other hand, was dressed in the absolute height of fashion. Through his appreciation for unconventionality, he sported an over-sized Givenchy t-shirt over leather pants and a leather "man skirt." Even when total darkness took over, we could still follow the trace of Kanye's glow in the dark Nike Air Yeezy 2s. His appreciation for creativity and current fads was well reflected, solidifying his position as one of the most important relatively "new" (compared to Jay-Z) artists of today.

Towards the end of the 2 and a half hours of constant entertainment, Jay-Z yelled to the crowd "We're living our dream in front of y'all tonight." I am almost certain that every single spectator from the show would agree that they lived their dreams last night too.

Black Widow VS White Hot

Just some of my favourite shots from Planet Blue's new lookbooks.  The visuals are absolutely stunning.  The golden metallics, and the glitter work to compliment the model's simplistic beauty. Amidst the glamour and sex-appeal, there is something playfully innocent about the images that work to the model's advantage. Artistically appealing and imaginative. Perfect for immersing yourself into a whimsical world when Managerial Economics looses it's excitement on a Monday afternoon.

"Realistically speaking, if I had three dollars in my bank account, I'd take out a loan just so I can buy this stuff" - Brian Leiberman 

Versace In The Wrong?

Donatella Versace has recently cancelled a photo shoot in which "real women," as opposed to professional models, were supposed to be featured sporting the new collection created in collaboration with H&M. In an article I read on the subject, Donatella's only defense was "I know this customer. I know what they want."
 In light of today's modern movement towards a universal acceptance of women in terms of their distinct physical appearances, it is obvious that such an occurrence would be seen as a scandal, as a controversial issue and a faulted decision. Although I strongly believe in promoting these ideals, those of the "empowered woman", the world of fashion was built on a particular aesthetic. It is not to say that I agree with Donatella Versace's decision, however, she truly is the only person who knows how to market her product best. In my opinion, her decision to cancel the shoot was not a product of her ignorance and disregard for women, but rather a strictly business-based course of action. To be frank, after seeing the clothes in person, they don't exactly appeal to the common eye. They are firstly very extreme in terms of colour and patterns, and most of the items don't meet the brand's quality caliber. The photography, in this case, is mastered to an exceptional level, and often, a desire is created from the image projected in photo shoots, as opposed to from the clothes themselves. 
We have to consider an important, possible reason for the cancelation of the shoot: this collection simply does not translate well to the average, "real" woman. The world of high fashion and haute couture, a place in which Versace has built a strong brand name and reputation, seldom includes clothes that could be worn by just anyone. The world of fashion is riddled with these cases, and such an event really does not shock me. The objective here is to make sales, to create demand for your product. And sometimes, the name "Versace" isn't enough - it needs to be backed up by a visually appealing and desirable quality. That is where the professional models come in. They have the look, they're experts, they know how to make the clothes seem 100% better than they might be in reality, which is truly the case for Versace's collaboration with H&M. 

Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2061915/Donatella-cancelled-Versace-H-M-shoot-using-real-women-models-did-fit-branding.html#ixzz1dqPhZcEE

Nightmare in Paris

Before this summer, my "Paris experience"could have been defined only by the images and words that coloured books and articles with descriptions of the city. The word "Paris", to me, meant romance, fascination, that iconic idea of "joie de vivre." My infatuation, founded on ideals I had never experience, would continue to grow until I finally booked my plane ticket. Destination: Paris.  Despite the occasional disgruntled Parisian, it was everything I had envisioned it to be, my perception strongly influenced by my inexplicable and loyal love for Paris. Although my objective was to absorb as much of the Parisian way of life as possible, I came with a promise I intended to keep. Two actually. The first: bring back the most handsome Parisian man, and begin what would become a life long love story. And if, by some strange and unusual incident this would have failed to occur, I had a second promise. There it is. The one item I promised myself I wouldn't leave Paris without. Much more glamorous and reliable than any man, anyway.

 (picture taken in Barcelona, by my brother: www.tgandjam.tumblr.com)

The story of the YSL ring and I does, however, unfold as the most classic of love stories. It begins with an innocent look, one which then turned quickly into desire. My eyes refused to wander passed the borders of the little glass box in which in was securely encased. I knew I had to have it. Not only was it the ultimate accessory, but it would be my one tangible memory of Paris, in its most honest form. It was the only size left in the colour I wanted. And then the woman handed me the white box, the black ribbon almost covering the gold detailing reading "Yves Saint Laurent."I placed it securely in the palm of my hands, not willing to risk a change of losing it in the open black whole of my purse. It was only when I stepped out of my second cab to my hotel, did I realize I no longer had it.

A sudden sense of panic overcame me. It was nowhere to be found. I had lost it. Not only had a broken my promise, but the thought of someone else wearing MY ring was torturous. Unfaithfulness at its worst. I knew I left it in the cab, and I assumed my cab driver to have been the stereotypical representation of careless locals who despised tourist. There was no way I would ever see it again. Having exhausted all possible alternatives, I returned to the YSL store, carrying the heavy burden of a near-broken heart. I didn't know what I was looking for, however, that didn't seem to matter. As soon as I walked in, the saleslady didn't greet me with the customary "Bonjour." Instead, she surprised me with a familar little white box. "You forgot this in your cab. The driver brought it back. Can't tell you how lucky you are, mademoiselle."

And so it continues, the promised life-long love story. I only have Paris to thank.