Friday, June 27, 2014

Beauty And The Beast

Blame it on the sting of cheap red wine. Blame it on that strange magic that is summertime. 

“Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic. Worlds had to be in travail, that the meanest flower might blow.”
- The Picture of Dorian Gray

It is days like this that the demons of the past come to haunt me. 

As a woman that possesses some kind of strange, dark beauty, I have come to accept that there will be strange men staring, and outright gawking, the occasional lewd gesture, catcalling, and even blatant sexist remarks. I have accepted this fact, and I have learned to keep my eyes to the ground, avoid making eye contact, and to never crack the slightest smile. I can feel the penetrating heat of the eyes that are on me, and I can often hear the footsteps and whispers behind me as I walk. I am embittered just thinking about what I deal with on a daily basis. I don't pretend to be a great beauty, it is something that is forced upon me. Things I don't even think of myself are present in the minds of others. It is truly amazing how, if you possess some sort of beauty, people will either immortalize you, discriminate against you (beautiful = incompetent/unintelligent), or despise you. I have discussed my thoughts on beauty many times before, but today I just wanted to write down the facts of who I really am.

I am a global nomad and a citizen of the world. I once described myself as floating between worlds...I am not entirely accepted in my home country and not entirely accepted in my adopted country. As a little girl I had a book containing every alias that I could come up with, including a full biography. I grew up dreaming of being a spy . I guess that is what growing up with James Bond, The Avengers, and your parents dragging you through countries only written about in spy novels will do to a little girl. I even seriously considered joining the CIA after high school.  I never thought of myself as much of a beauty. I am the only dark featured child out of six children. The rest of my siblings look like what the Aryan super-race should have looked like - icy azure or seafoam colored eyes, platinum blond hair, and porcelain skin. In turn, I was often mistaken for a gypsy - you see, I have that unmistakable Mediterranean skintone - I turned a deep, glowing bronze after only a half an hour in the sun. I am the only one in my family with turkish coffee colored eyes. I remember, vividly, that once an old lady chased after me with her broom because she thought I was a gypsy. Ah, memories. 

The summer when I was ten years old, I was introduced to a world that would forever define me. The years when I was ten, eleven, and twelve, hold some of the most magical and most painful memories for me. It was through these years that I learned to sharpen my nails enough to draw blood. As the only American girl living in an ex-Communist country where women were thought of as inferior - this is how I survived. Barely. I was locked in elevators with my best friend and forced to watch her do unspeakable things. I was grabbed off the street in broad daylight and locked in strange rooms. I was beat and spit on and held up by my ponytail if I put up too much of a fight. Needless to say, I was quite a fighter...and I learned to outrun and outwit many an adversary. But the damage had been done. These things led to the development of agoraphobia...something that I have attempted to explain so many times to close friends and family, yet still fails to be acknowledged or understood. I remember my father once telling me, "It was all your fault", and, "Your timidity is a sin". I love my father, but he never will understand what it was like to be a blossoming girlchild under such suffocating and unforgiving circumstances. As a survivor ( I refuse to utter that word...victim!) of such abuse, I find myself occasionally fighting back the sting of tears as I walk down the street and am the target of unwanted attention. I find it so unfair, and so unjust, that I, as a woman, have to fight this battle and the opposite sex has no idea how it is to feel like the broken child that I am. I know that I am not alone, but goddamn, most days it feels that way. I fake my confidence, and I fake my composure, because I have to pretend in order to face the world I live in. People think that because I am nice, and that I always smile, that it is because I haven't faced adversity or because I am unintelligent and naive. It is generalizations like these that will always haunt me, but they will never let me forget who I really am. 

Please, just remember:

Never judge a book by its cover.

Comrade Von Pussycat

Sunday, June 22, 2014

Marilyn Monroe In A Crop Top And Hot Pants!

Unzipped! Who says that the 1950's weren't scandalous?!
Yet another outfit I need in my many clothes, so little time!
Love everything about this!

Comrade Von Pussycat

Vintage Style: Vacation Mode!

How adorable are all of these outfits? Perfect for a vacation to Mexico...I especially love the strapless number with the matador pants and voluminous tomato red sash!
I love that in the 1950's they made coordinating resort wear! So practical!
Cat eye sunglasses? Check. I love the lady in lemon and cream colored seperates!
Sun and sand...what more could you want?

Lana Turner in "Love Has Many Faces" set in Acapulco, Mexico. I adore her style in this movie!
Oh,'re so perfect. I need, I mean NEED, more animal print in my wardrobe!
Meanwhile, somewhere in Mexico...
Dream looks!
Let's go campy!

Comrade Von Pussycat

Friday, June 20, 2014

Shades Of Cool

Some days I miss when we were mere children. When I was the only one in the neighborhood with rollerblades and I would always let you borrow them, even though they were my prized possession. Things seemed so much simpler then...

I never would have imagined that after a decade of my absence, that you would still recognize me...

"Pussycat, is that you?"

Our eyes met under the pale moonlight, and I could see that you were pleased with what you saw.

"Come with me tonight..."
You reached out and stroked my blushing cheek..."please?"

Under the table, in the middle of the crowd, your hand grasped my hand. I rested my weary head on your noble Balkan shoulder. I wondered what it all meant. You were like a brother... right?

"Let me walk you home Pussycat", you whispered into my ear.

I could feel your arm wrap around my waist as we walked into the dark blue velvet night. All of a sudden, you turned to me and hugged me kissed my crushed rose petal lips...I stroked your bronzed cheek with soft white fingertips...

"Would you have let me kiss you if you hadn't been drunk?"


Your tongue melted into mine once more.

"You're beautiful, Pussycat"

I called you on my last night there... and you whispered to me... "goodbye my sweetheart".


Comrade Von Pussycat

Sunday, June 15, 2014

La Loren in "Too Bad She's Bad"

 Comrade Von Pussycat

Marcello And His Leading Ladies

Comrade Von Pussycat

On Seduction And Silhouette

 Silhouette. I am obsessed with silhouette. Shadows, curves, and indentations...what could be more seductive than silhouette? I have always been good at one thing... in my experience, seduction has always been more about a revelation of cheek, charm, and silhouette rather than of mere skin. 

Never waste your charm one someone who doesn't appreciate it in the first place. Seduction should always come naturally, with minimal effort, it should never be forced because force equals desperation. It is always the dreamer who falls the hardest. They are always picking up the smallest details and reading into everything - these are the best victims because they imagine things are infinitely more fascinating/beautiful/enchanting than they really are. These are the epicureans, the fetishists. As La Loren once said, "Sex appeal is fifty percent what you've got, and fifty perfect what they think you've got". 

The shadows have always been great friends of mine. As a struggling agoraphobic, it was only in the shadows that I found consolation. It was in the shadows that I found my lost Lolita soul. It was the shadows that breathed new life into this faded nymphet. Maybe this is why film noir fascinates me so - the mist, the fog, the shadows - I've always had a fascination with sublety and innuendo. Sometimes words can mean so little, but one look, one glance, one frame, can reveal everything. I abhor anything painfully obvious. The dreamers always fall the hardest. How do I know? Because that, dollface, is exactly what I am.

Isn't it divine? The perfect mix of femme fatale and Morticia Adams! I need this in my life...
Comrade Von Pussycat

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

My Wardrobe Is Starting To Look Like Something From A Fairytale...

California is experiencing a heatwave, and all I can think of is how many pretty wool dresses I would like to add to my ever expanding collection! Blame it on Russia...Anton Chekhov, Ulyana Sergeenko, and all those espionage films such as the James Bond series. If I could list three of my (fictional) fashion icons, they would be 1) Snow White, 2) Catwoman (as played by Julie Newmar! All of that skintight, shimmery lurex! If I could wear a catsuit everyday I definitely would!), and 3) James Bond (or any Bond girl for that matter!). I forgot Mrs. Peel from The Avengers. She always wore the coolest things. I have always had an affinity for leather...

 "I love the smell of leather in the morning", she said to her old flame as he sat down on the scuffed cherry vinyl seats. It was 7 in the morning on a Saturday, he told her he wanted to take her out for strawberry pancakes. He was a motorcyclist, very dapper, incredibly charming...always had perfectly coiffed hair, was the perfect gentleman, yet had a dark, almost sinister streak. He was the type that would open the door for you, take off your blonde mink coat, and fuck you hard on the cold kitchen floor...smeared blood red lipstick and all.

I take my glamour every day with a dose of vulgarity - whether it is a 6-inch black snakeskin stiletto, black lace (or latex!)  undergarments, or just a wicked sense of humor - an unexpected vulgar streak is infinitely more seductive than plain as day, in your face whore-ishness ;) Not that I have a problem with that...its just so obvious and painfully unimaginative. I have a problem with anything generic.

More on that later...let's stick to fashion ;)

1950's college girls - that hair! Those dresses! The hats! 

I promise I will try to get over my fear of selfies and show you more of my will happen!

Comrade Von Pussycat