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fashioneditswebsite · 2 months

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13 top looks from the 2024 Vanity Fair Oscars after-party

Kerry Washington, Kendall Jenner, and Jennifer Lawrence were some of the celebrities in attendance. Celebrities from music, fashion, and entertainment, including Kim Kardashian, Usher, and Kylie Minogue, stepped outside the box for the 2024 Vanity Fair Oscars after-party. In celebration of awards season, the publication hosts its annual star-studded party in Los Angeles yearly, where bold and extravagant fashion choices are made. Kim Kardashian American reality TV star and entrepreneur Kim Kardashian chose a structured lilac bodycon Balenciaga floor-length dress with an exaggerated spiked bust area. Kerry Washington American actress and producer known for her role as Olivia Pope in Shonda Rhimes's hit political drama Scandal graced the carpet in a black Giambattista Valli 2024 couture gown from the spring/summer collection. It featured a frilled off-the-shoulder and crosshatch sequin detailing. Usher American pop and R&B singer-songwriter Usher, fresh off smashing his extended Superbowl half-time show, attended the after party in a deep plunge silver sequinned top with white detailing around the neckline. He paired it with white trousers and white shoes. Donald Glover Actor and writer Donald Glover, who recently starred in the classic Mr. and Mrs. Smith remake, debuted a new high-top haircut for the 2024 Oscars Vanity Fair after-party in a dark red Amiri suit with black detailing on the collar and pocket. He paired it with an unbuttoned Spanish pink shirt, a white vest top, and pointed white and black loafers. Kylie Minogue Australian singer-songwriter and actress Kylie Minogue, who won the Global Icon Award at the Brits this year, dazzled in a green and blue sequinned spaghetti strap gown. Barry Keoghan Irish actor Barry Keoghan, who received plaudits for his lead role in Saltburn, wore a textured black and white bright jacket with baggy black trousers and a white vest underneath. Kris Jenner American entrepreneur and 'momager' Kris Jenner wore a long-sleeved, bedazzled Oscar de la Renta gown. It featured extra sparkles around the neckline and longer sequin fringes towards the bottom of the dress and sleeves. Kendall Jenner Model and reality TV star Kendall Jenner arrived at the 2024 Oscars Vanity Fair after-party in an elegant black lace dress. She was also spotted at the Maison Margiela spring/summer 2024 couture show. Furthermore, the dress had a high-neck design and a flowy silhouette that added to its overall elegance. The floral pattern across the chest seamlessly transitioned into cloud-shaped cutouts further down, creating a whimsical and dreamy effect. Kylie Jenner (Alamy/PA)Reality TV star Kylie Jenner donned a burgundy Ludovic de Saint Sernin sequin dress with a flowering branch detailing at the center from the 2024 autumn/winter ready-to-wear collection. America Ferrera American actress America Ferrera, nominated for Best Supporting Actress in Barbie, wore a blood-red bedazzled suit jacket. She paired it with a diamond statement necklace, black tights, and platform heels. Florence Pugh British actress Florence Pugh, whose recent films include Oppenheimer and Dune: Part Two, opted for a white mesh dress with embroidered designs featuring a peplum detail and trail. She paired it with sparkly court heels and a messy updo. Jennifer Lawrence American actress Jennifer Lawrence wore a white lace Givenchy gown from the 1996 autumn/winter collection. The gown featured an ultra-cropped jacket with a tall collar. Billie Eilish Oscar-winning singer Billie Eilish, who won the best original songBarbie'sr Barbie's song What Was I Made For? alongside her brotheO'Connell O’Connell, wore a black tuxedo-inspired pinstriped oversized suit with a white pinstriped shirt underneath. Read the full article

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saintsurvivors · 3 years

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His ribs hurt.

He’s become so use to the flash, of the feel of something hitting him, bruising and breaking and demolishing, and then the rapid heal, that it’s a shock to wake up in the morning stiff and sore. He lies in bed a little longer, his alarm buzzing in his ear.

He braces his ribs, wrapped and broken and bruised, with his arm. Barry can still feel the backlash of Griffin Gray’s punches, powered with super strength and the other man’s grief and hurt and anger. Thinking of Gray brings a puddle of bile to his throat and he swallows it down, wincing as it grates on his ribs, his bruised trachea and about every hurt he’s ever had.

“Barry!” Joe shouts up the stairs. “You best be getting up!”

He doesn’t have the energy to shout. Doesn’t have the energy to get up and pull his shirt on. Doesn’t have the energy to do anything.

But he has to. With a quiet groan, Barry sits up in bed, an arm wrapped around his ribs. There wasn’t a lot to do for broken and bruised ribs, only to be wrapped and dosed up on painkillers - that was an upside that Barry hadn’t thought about - and making sure that he doesn’t get jostled too much on the way to work or at work.

He gets dressed, slow and stiff. It makes him feel like an old man. He’s glad he’s started wearing his cardigans again, they’re easier to pull on than having to pull a sweater over his head.

“Comin’, Joe,” He says, wavering on the top of the staircase, loafers in hand. He’s blushing red, he can feel it. He hates this, hates it with a passion he’s never felt even before becoming the Flash.

“Alright, Bar?” Joe asks, holster and badge already on. He’s got that little furrow in his brow that means he’s concerned but trying not to make a big deal out of it.

“I can’t put my shoes on,” Barry mumbles, blushing red. It had been agony trying to pull his trousers up. Having to bend down for an extended period of time to pull his shoes on and then tie them? He almost ended up going head first in a spectacular swan dive when he first tried it.

“Can’t put your-? Oh,” Joe says, and his eyes go soft and concerned. His eyes flicker to the bump of thick bandage he can just make out under Barry’s white collared shirt “Sofa,” Joe points.

“Thanks, Joe,” Barry says. He’s going even redder. He hates that he apparently can’t fend for himself. Can’t do anything. He feels like a burden in a way he never felt before.

Not even when Joe first took him in and he had to put up with a screw-up of a kid with PTSD and panic attacks and nightmares and believing in the impossible.

Joe sits on the coffee table, slapping Barry’s knee.

“Foot up, Bar,” Joe says, and his fingers are quick and effortless as he laces the loafers.

“I’m definitely getting shoes without laces,” Barry mumbles as he looks up at the ceiling.

“Might help,” Joe says, and there’s something so mild and inoffensive in his voice that Barry makes a fist with his hands, pulling at his jeans from where they’re grasping the denim. His eyes burn.

Embarrassed for the third time this morning, Barry scrubs a hand down his face and doesn’t dare look at Joe, who knocks Barry’s foot off of his knee, obviously done.

“I’m sorry, Joe,” Barry says miserably, peaking through his fingers at the older man.

Joe leans forward, looking at Barry with dark, serious eyes.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry about, Barry,” He says, quiet and serious in a way he always is. There’s an added hint of sadness to the serious edge. It makes something in Barry quake. “I’m so proud of you, okay kid?”

“Yeah,” Barry says. He doesn’t know what there’s to be proud of.

“Hey,” Joe taps him gently upside of the head. “Get that look of your face, you’re not a burden and you’re definitely not deadweight, okay?”

Barry ducks his head, smiles. He doesn’t quite know how Joe does it.

(That’s the thing though. He feels like deadweight and that’s because he is.)

“Now c’mon,” Joe stands, and he helps pull Barry up from the sofa. “We’ve gotta get to work,”

Barry snorts, slapping Joe on the shoulder quickly. His eyes say everything, wide and thankful as he passes Joe. He winces against the pain of his ribs when he stretches too quickly to grab his messenger bag from the banister and Joe shoves a bottle of painkillers in his hand.

It’s going to take some getting used to, Barry thinks. Now that he can use painkillers, he keeps forgetting.

“Make sure you take some,” Joe says warningly, darting his eyes from the medication to Barry’s eyes purposefully.

@youarentreadingthis @bpdanakins @appalachianapologies

#ur tagged bc thia is ur fault im posting this so #the flash cw #barry allen #joe west #the flash #flash fic #kw #!!!#barry whump #emptier than before #this is like #...not even the first half of chapter one lmaaaao

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eqfrestgfertg · 3 years

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the bear Louis Vuitton Bags has lost his teeth

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mr-gooseyshoes · 5 years

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Bold what applies. (Yvan)

[ BODY ]

Long legs. Short legs. Average legs. Slender thighs. Thick thighs. Toned thighs. Skinny arms. Soft arms. Toned arms. Toned stomach. Flat stomach.Flabby Stomach. Soft stomach. Six-pack. Beer belly. Child pudge. Lean frame. Beefy/muscular frame. Voluptuous frame. Petite frame. Lanky frame. Short nails. Long nails. Manicured nails. Dirty nails. Claws. Flat ass. Toned ass. Bubble butt (*laughing childishly*). Small waist. Average waist. Thick waist. Narrow hips. Average hips. Wide hips. Big feet. Average feet. Small feet. Soft feet. Slender feet. Paws. Calloused hands. Soft hands. Big hands. Average hands. Small hands. Long fingers. Short fingers. Average fingers. Narrow shoulders. Broad shoulders. Average shoulders. Underweight. Average weight. Overweight. Big ears (he used to, but not anymore).

[ HEIGHT ]

Shorter than 140 cm. 141 cm-150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180 cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2m. Taller than 2 m.

[ SKIN ]

Pale. Rosy. Olive. Dark. Mutant. Tanned. Blotchy. Smooth. Moles. Acne. Dry. Greasy. Freckled. Scars. Birthmarks. Fur.

[ EYES ]

Small. Large. Average. Grey. Brown. Blue. Black. Violet. Pink. Green. Gold (sometimes). Hazel. Crimson (sometimes). Doe-eyed. Almond. Close-set. Wide-set. Deep-set. Squinty. Monolid. Heavy eyelids. Upturned. Downturned.

[ HAIR ]

Thin. Thick. Fine. Normal. Greasy. Dry. Soft. Shiny. Curly. Frizzy. Wild. Unruly. Straight. Smooth. Wavy. Floppy. Cropped. Pixie-cut. Afro. Shoulder length. Back length. Waist length. Past hip-length. Buzz cut. Bald. Weave. Hair extensions. Jaw length. Layered. Mohawk. PonyTail. Dreadlocks. Box braids. Faux locks. White. Platinum blonde. Golden blonde. Dirty blonde. Blonde. Strawberry Blonde. Ombre. Ash brown. Mouse brown. Chestnut brown. Golden brown. Chocolate brown. Dark brown. Jet black. Ginger. Red. Auburn. Dyed. Mutant. Thin eyebrows. Average eyebrows. Thick eyebrows. Plucked eyebrows.

[ TATTOOS / PIERCINGS ]

Full sleeve (not really, but tats take up both his arms!). Thigh tattoo. Neck tattoo. Chest tattoo. Back tattoo. Shoulder blade tattoo. One tattoo. Face tattoo. Hand tattoo. A few here and there. Multiple. No tattoos. Monroe piercing. Nose piercing. Septum. Nipple piercing(s). Genital piercing(s). Industrial piercings. Earlobe piercings. Prince Albert piercing. Eyebrow piercing(s). Tongue piercing(s). Lip piercing(s). Top of the ear. Tragus piercing. Angel bites. Labret. Stretched out ears. Navel piercing. Inverse navel piercing. Cheek piercing(s). Smiley. Nape piercing(s). No piercings.

[ COSMETICS ]

Eyeliner. Light eyeliner. Heavy eyeliner. Cat eyes. Mascara. Fake eyelashes. Matte lipstick. Regular lipstick. Lipgloss. Red lips. Pink lips. Nude lips. Dark lips. Bronzer. Highlighter. Eyeshadow. Neutral eyeshadow. Smoky eyes. Colorful eyeshadow. Blush. Lipliner. Light contouring. Heavy contouring. Powder. Matte foundation. Shiny foundation. Concealer. Wears war paint from time to time. Wears make up regularly. Wears it from time to time. Rarely wears make-up.

[ SCENT ]

Floral. Herbal. Earthy. Fruity. Perfumes. Aftershave. Cocoa. Moisturizer. Shampoo. Cigarettes (touched by smoke from being with Ken and/or Barry, possibly others.). Leather. Fur. Sweat. Food. Incense. Cologne (formal). Whiskey. Wine. Fried food. Blood. Fire. Cold. Fresh. Metal. Rain. Chemicals.

[ CLOTHES ]

Jeans. Tight pants. Overknee socks. Tights. Leggings. Yoga pants. Pencil skirt. Tight skirt. Loose skirt. Tight/Form-fitting dress. Cardigans. Tunic. Blouse. Button up shirt. Band-T-shirt. Sports-T-shirt. Sweatpants. Tanktop. Cut off t-shirt. Designer. High street. Leather jacket. Thrift. Lingerie. Long skirt. Miniskirt. Maxidress. Sun dress. Tie. Tuxedo (extra formal). Cocktail dress. Uniform (waiter). High slit dress/skirt. T-shirt. Loose clothing. Tight clothing. Jean shorts. Sweater. Sweater vest. Waistcoat. Khaki pants. Suit (extra formal). Hoodie. Harem pants. Basketball shorts. Boxers/Boxer-Briefs. Thong. Hotpants. Hipster panties. Bra. Sportsbra. Crop top. Corset. Ballerina skirt. Leotard. Polka dot. Stripes. Glitter. Cotton. Linen. Silk. Lace. Leather. Velvet. Patterns. Florals. Neon colors. Pastels. Light colors. White. Black. Dark colours. Fur/Fauxfur. Revealing clothing. Heavy armor. Medium armor. Light Armor. Magnificent hats. (Pretty much his entire wardrobe.)

[ SHOES ]

Sneakers. Slip-ons. Flats. Slippers. Sandals. High heels. Kitten heels. Ankle boots. Combat boots. Knee-high. Platforms. Stripper heels. Bare feet. Loafers. Oxfords. Gladiator shoes. Leather boots. (He owns all of the mentioned shoes. ALL OF THEM.)

Tagged by: @the-toon-magistrate (I fixed the mention tag! Yay!)

Tagging: Are you alive? Great! You’re tagged. :D

#tagged by the-toon-magistrate #mun is laughing somewhere in the background #08/11/2019 #meme #bwa meme #yvan #should I add some tags?

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alliwannadoiscomerunning · 7 years

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It’s Just a Thing (Child!Klaine Bereavement Sequel)

Hey! It’s @alliwannadoiscomerunning here. I decided to continue my @blangstpromptoftheday #1047 fill, which is “Blaine meets Kurt for the first time when he’s seven and Kurt is eight and they’re both at a support group for children suffering a bereavement”. Read Part 1 here.

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Blaine sits, slightly red-eyed, but calm, in the backseat on the way back from Lima. Pam doesn't ask him anything as she pulls into a different parking lot, different, but all the same when referring to the casual strip mall in Ohio. His dark hair carefully curls in the summer wind as Pam takes his hand and leads him out of the GMC Denali, which involved gripping both of his shoulders to lift him out of the giant SUV.

Pam can't tell herself why she and Josh had bought the car in the first place. They had two children, and a medium sized dog named Leo, which her eldest had named at age ten. After seven years, the dog still came everywhere with them, but was conspicuously absent today. Pam seldom wondered if Leo was depressed, too. Perhaps the extra large SUV came when Josh and her decided to raise their first child in the suburbs, where the mid-eighties were at its height and the thought of a big brick house in the Midwestern suburbs was actually appealing. Pam was sick of it. She longed for travel.

She stared at her youngest son out of the corner of her eyes. Her remaining son. He's small and handsome, his retrossè profile framing something much more boring than his appearance. Josh and Pam had been overjoyed when their mistake turned into such a pretty baby.

But at the same time, Pam looked at him with pangs of pain that crippled her aging heart. Maybe, if this son hadn't been born, they'd still have the other one. Part of her, the darker side, sings at the idea. When Cooper had been a child, he would dance in front of his mother for hours and hours, pulling the most wonderful facial expressions, and making Pam believe that her son was going to go somewhere. Make it big in Hollywood, or Broadway. He was always bouncing around, much less patient than Blaine, who as a kid would sit in silence with his toys on the floor (Cooper’s?), and read books. The idea that ghosted the forefront of Pam’s mind was almost too good to be true.

What was she saying?

Pam settled down as a slightly cheered up Blaine licked his ice cream cone slowly, yet he paid much attention, as if it would disappear if he didn't savor the moment while it lasted. Maybe, Pam thought, that she should start savoring the memories, too.

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Burt gripped the steering wheel carefully, listening to his son gush on and on in the backseat of the old Saab. The muffler would probably need to be replaced, soon, he realized, because he could barely hear Kurt’s lilted voice.

Kurt asks in the tense Mellencamp-driven atmosphere, “Why’s bologna called bologna, Daddy? Shouldn’t it be bologna- that’s how it’s spelt.”

This is good. A normal conversation.

“I don’t know, son,” said Burt- why out of all normal conversations, his son had to pick the most obscure one there is..- “I guess it’s the Americanized-version of how the Italians say it.”

“And how do the Italians say it?”

The questions never end, and sometimes, Burt wonders if he has to answer them all.

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The next Tuesday, at 4:00, both families arrived in the strip mall parking lot at relatively similar times. That day, however, it was just Pam bringing her son around to Ms. Pillsbury’s Boys’ Bereavement Group. After ice cream the previous week, Blaine was more interested in what would happen after the meeting than during or before.

And as for Kurt, he was just trying not to think all that hard about it. His father wanted him to come, and so there he was.

The boys found each others’ eyes from across the lobby. Kurt and Blaine never saw each other at school, and Kurt wondered why that was.

“You said you go to my school,” accused Kurt as he came closer to the other boy, whose mother bade him no attention, “I didn’t see you anywhere.”

This time, Blaine wasn’t in uniform, which last week, consisted of a dark, smart blue blazer with red piping, a red and blue tie, and a white button undershirt. There was a stitched ‘D’ on the front pocket in elaborate, neat font, and gray trousers with brown loafers. Kurt wore this that day, but Blaine himself was dressed neatly in a sweater vest and dark pants, with no socks, but shoes similar to the Dalton Primary uniform.

“I haven’t started yet,” said Blaine, “Mommy says I’m not starting until next week.” He looked around aimlessly for Pam, who was off chatting with the weird blonde secretary, Sue.

“Oh,” Kurt relented, “You just wanted to wear the clothes.”

Blaine smiled, “Guilty as charged.”

The two boys’ conversation slacked off into silence until Kurt blurted, “You know a lot of big words.”

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In group about fifteen minutes later, Blaine started off by saying, “One of my favourite memories of Cooper was when he bought a dictionary once to just throw it at the wall. He just threw it. At the wall.” There were some giggles from the boys, particularly Kurt, who willingly sat next to him as soon as they walked in.

“Did he dislike reading, Blaine?” Miss Pillsbury’s dynamic today was easy and nonjudgmental. Blaine knew her tone was gentle.

“Uh huh. He never read to me, because he wanted me to learn by myself. I like that he did, because…because, now I know how to read.”

“My daddy taught me how to read,” Nick piped up, “Can we read a book instead of drawing today, Miss Pillsbury?”

“Yeah, I don’t like drawing!” complained seven year old Jeff. “It makes me feel like a girl.”

Kurt gave a huff of annoyance, “Well, maybe if you were better at it, you’d like it more!”

Once again, the group began to feel like it was falling apart. Miss Pillsbury found this incredibly frustrating, and gripped her clipboard with a tighter hold than she felt like she had on this group of little boys. Little boys!

“OK,” said Miss Pillsbury, avoiding what very well could have been World War III, “OK. Let’s talk about reading some more. I don’t think we’ll have time for an activity today, so Jeff doesn’t have to worry.”

What was meant to be a joke turned into anxiety when Jeff high-fived Nick. Did they really not like her activities?

“Um,” Emma fumbled, “Do you have anything to add, Sebastian?”

When perhaps the most distraught boy in the room lifted his head, Emma knew that she was in hot water. Sebastian was notoriously mentioned in Emma’s notes for his temper and his story, which was a tragic one. Not that every other boy had a right to be there, but Emma just knew that she may have gone one step too far. Asking Sebastian to speak up in group was probably a mistake.

Nick, Jeff, and Blaine exchanged a few glances with each other. Kurt was confused, because it was only his third meeting, and well, who was this Sebastian kid, anyway? He couldn’t have been more than eight, but no younger than Blaine or Nick or Jeff. His green eyes were dull, and because they were so (well, not attentive) they weren’t anything special. His hair was well-taken care of, so there was that. Kurt found nice dark brown pigments between Sebastian’s chocolate and sandy blonde roots. Not too blonde, though.

“I’m Barry,” Sebastian finally spoke, “Not Sebastian. Sebastian. Is. Dead. Dead. It was Sebastian that died. I’m Barry.” -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Christopher Smythe was a worn out man.

What stared at him now, but the face of defeat? What gazed down on him, except God, who was probably too drunk, like him, to care at all that he made another mistake. That mistake, Christopher decided, was too horrid to be the truth, and started theorizing that God took away one of his twins because only one of them was supposed to be born. And then, he supposed God screwed up once more, because he left the more insolent, tantrum-throwing, and behavioral child on Earth, and took away the kinder one.

Barry had been perfect. Little Bartholomew and Sebastian (marrying one of the richest women in Paris had its drawbacks, including naming his children ridiculous names that belonged in a Charlie Chaplin film) had been born identical, and came in a package deal. You take what you give, including the fact that Barry was the sweetest, kindest child Christopher ever had the pleasure of meeting. And the fact that his more reserved brother, Sebastian, quickly acted out in response to his co-twin’s death only made things more complicated for him.

Christopher Smythe was tired. He was tired of the judgmental looks, tired of the glares he received from liberals who knew his story. Like there weren’t hundreds of them every day- hundreds who shouldn’t be dead because of the very thing that protected him from whatever’s out there. Barry shouldn’t be dead, and Christopher blamed God. Sure, he felt the scorn of a hundred children, a hundred parents, but you take what you give.

Christopher stood inside Dalton Primary School, the principal standing in front of him. He didn’t know if Mr. Schuester knew who he was, yet, or if he cared. If he would judge his son for what happened to their family.

Mr. Schuester waited for Christopher to talk again, like he had been for awhile. But Christopher found his mouth dry. He cannot, because Sebastian, his son, is speaking.

“I’m not Sebastian.”

Mr. Schuester smiled; he must think this is a joke. A game. A child hiding behind the sofa, holding up a puppet.

“You’re Sebastian Smythe! We’ve seen your photos! You are going to love this school, we teach—”

“I’m NOT Sebastian, I’m Barry.”

“Uh—”

“Bastian’ is dead. I’m Barry.”

“Bastian?…?” The man trails off, and looks to Christopher, understandably confused. Christopher’s son then repeated himself. Loudly. “Barry. I am Barry. Barry!”

The hallway of the school is silent apart from Sebastian, shouting these lunatic words. William Schuester’s smile has faded very quickly. He glanced at Christopher, who was the picture of a haggard father, with a panicked frown. There were lots of happy children’s drawings drawn over poetry printed on paper tacked to the wall. The school principal tried just one more time.

“Ah...um...Sebas—”

Christopher’s son snapped at Will Schuester as if she were stupid. “Barry! You have to call me Barry! Barry! Barry! Barry! Barry! Barry! Barry! Barry! BARRY!”

The man stood his ground, but Sebastian grew quite out of control. He was giving them a full-on toddler’s supermarket tantrum- except that they were in a school, and he is seven, and he is claiming that he is his dead brother.

“Dead, ‘Bastian’s dead. I’M BARRY! I am Barry! He is here! Barry!”

What do I do? Christopher thought, and he tried to make normal conversation, absurdly, “Um, it’s just a thing, a thing – I’ll be back to pick him up at-”

But Christopher’s efforts are lost as Sebastian screamed again, “BARRY, BARRY, BARRY, BARRY, BARRY, BARRY, Sebastian is DEAD and I HATE him I’m Barry!”

“Please,” Christopher said. To Sebastian. Abandoning his pretence. “Please, son, please?”

“SEBASTIAN IS DEAD. Sebastian is dead, they killed him, they killed him. I am BAR-THOOOOO-LOOOOO-MEEEWWWW!”

And then as quickly as it started, it blew itself out. Sebastian shook his head, stomped over to the far wall, and sat down in a little chair, under a photo of school kids working in a garden, with a cheery message written in felt-tip pen. He who plants a tree plants hope.

Sebastian sniffed, then said, very quietly, “Please call me Barry. Why can’t you call me Barry, daddy, that’s who I am? Please?” His teary green eyes lifted. “I’m not going to school, ‘less you call me Barry, please. Daddy?’

Christopher felt paralyzed. His pleading sounded painfully sincere. He truly felt like he had no choice. The silence prolonged into agony. Because now, I’ve got to explain everything to this Schuester guy at the worst possible moment; and to do that I need Sebastian out of here. I need him in this school, he thought.

“OK, OK. Mmm-” Christopher said, unable to think properly. “Mr. Schuester. This is Barry. Barry Smythe.” Christopher became frightened, and started to mumble. “I’m actually enrolling Bartholomew Christopher Smythe.”

There was a long pause. William Schuester looked at Christopher, with intense confusion.

“Pardon me? Barry? But …” The teacher became a bright red, flustered. Then, he reached to a desk, behind a open, sliding window, and took out a sheet of paper. His next words were more of a whisper. “But it says here, quite clearly, that you are enrolling Sebastian Smythe? That was on the application. Sebastian. Definitely. Sebastian Smythe?”

Christopher breathed in deeply. He started to speak, but Sebastian got there first, as if he overheard.

“I’m Barry,” said Sebastian. “Sebastian is dead, then he was alive, but then he is dead again. I am Barry.”

William Schuester, once more, says nothing. Christopher started to feel too dizzy to respond, teetering on the edge of dark absurdity. But with an effort, he spoke, “Can we let Bartholomew join his new class and I can explain?”

There was another desperate silence, Christopher’s face pleading for the other man to understand. Then, he heard children singing a song down a corridor, raucous and happy.

“Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to FLY-”

The incongruity made Sebastian’s father nauseous.

William Schuester shook his head, then edging closer to Christopher as he said, “Yes ... That seems sensible.”

The school principal turned to a good-looking young woman, in a pencil skirt, pressing through the glass doors from the cold outside. “Ms. Corcoran, Shelby, please–do you mind– can you take, ahh, Barry Smythe to his new class, Year Two, end of the corridor. Madelyn Stewart.”

“FLY, blackbird, FLY- ”

Shelby nodded an amiable Yes and squatted down, next to Sebastian, like an overkeen waitress taking an order, “Hey, Barry. D’you want to come with me?”

“Into the light of the dark black night…blackbird singing in the dead of night…”

“I’m Barry.’ Sebastian was fiercely folding his arms. Scowling. Bottom lip jutting. As stubborn a face as he can manage, “You must call me Barry.”

“Sure. Of course. Barry! You’ll like it, they’re doing music this morning.”

“FLY, blackbird, FLY…”

At last, it worked. Slowly, he unfolded his arms and he takes her hand- and he followed Shelby toward another glass door. He looks so small, and the door looks so huge and daunting, devouring…Christopher couldn’t help but wish his wife wasn’t in Paris right now, coping by herself. The twins had been in his custody when Barry had died.

For one moment Sebastian paused, and turned to give Christopher a sad, frightened smile- and then Shelby escorted him into the corridor- he became swallowed up by the school. Christopher must leave him to his lonely fate; so he turned to William Schuester.

“I have to explain.”

Schuester nodded, sombrely. “Yes please. In my office. We can be alone there.”

Fifty minutes later, and Christopher has given William Schuester the basic, yet appalling details of their story. The accident, the death, the confusion of identity, all over fourteen months. He looked suitably and honestly horrified, and also sympathetic, but Christopher could also detect a hint of sly delight in his eyes, as he listened to the narrative. Christopher was certainly livening up another dull school day. This is something he can tell his wife and his work friends today- you won’t believe who came in today, a father whose son doesn’t know his own identity…

“That’s a remarkable story,” said Schuester. “I’m so so sorry.”

He took his glasses off and puts them on again. “It is amazing that there is, ah, no way...of really…”

“Knowing? Proving?”

“Well, yes.”

“All I know is that – I mean, I think – If he wants to be Barry for now maybe we have to go with it. For now. Do you mind?”

“Well no, of course. If that’s what you prefer. And that’s fine in terms of enrollment. They are…”

Schuester searched for the words. “Well, they were the same age, so – yes – I’ll just have Shelby update the records, but don’t worry about that.”

Christopher got up to leave, eventually, quite desperate to escape.

“So sorry, Mr. Smythe. But I’m sure everything will be all right now, Sebastian – I mean – your son. Barry. He will love it here. Really.”

Christopher simply fled.

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fashiontrendin-blog · 6 years

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How To Actually Look Good In A Waistcoat

https://fashion-trendin.com/how-to-actually-look-good-in-a-waistcoat-2/

How To Actually Look Good In A Waistcoat

We, being in the business of menswear, are usually able to spot a trend at a thousand paces. Our spies are out there registering sightings of a piece of clothing before it goes viral. Then, when things get a bit overkill, the trend usually gets sent packing and away it goes until us fickle humans have had enough time to cease being painfully bored by it.

Every so often though, something gets catapulted to stardom overnight, and that’s exactly what’s happened in the case of the waistcoat, which in record time has gone from leaving people severely unbothered to absolutely rabid. All it took was England football manager Gareth Southgate and an unassuming Marks & Spencer navy waistcoat to launch the movement during this year’s World Cup tournament.

The importance of Southgate’s touchline tailoring shouldn’t be underestimated: #waistcoatwednesday is doing the rounds, calling the country to arms to rally around the waistcoat. It’s a thing, and not just because it’s wedding season.

So, whether you want to mimic England’s newest national hero or recruit this overlooked piece of tailoring as part of your permanent line-up, we’ve rounded up the best waistcoat brands and will explain just what it takes to pull off this divisive garment.

How To Wear A Waistcoat

Despite being a timeless piece of menswear, the waistcoat comes fraught with dangers. Take the last decade as a cautionary tale: every manufactured boyband worth their salt was sporting some kind of waistcoat, accompanied by a ludicrously low-cut T-shirt and ill-advised beads in most cases.

Style crimes aren’t all you need to look out for though, technicality is important here too. Find a design too tight and you’ll look like an overstuffed sausage, go too loose and you’re the barely visible page boy buried in panic-bought polyester. Your waistcoat’s fit should enable you to put a hand snugly beneath the closure without any strain on the buttons. Oh, and speaking of buttons, always leave your bottom button undone, those are just the rules.

The smartest way to style a waistcoat is as nature intended – wear as part of a three piece suit. For a formal look the waistcoat should appear as an extension of your suit, so a design in the exact same colour and fabric as your blazer and trousers is preferable. That’s not to say that you can’t add a lone waistcoat to your existing tailoring line-up however.

It can work if you opt for one that’s an almost identical colour and texture to an existing suit, which’ll keep things feeling harmonious. A navy, pale grey or charcoal suit worn with a corresponding colour waistcoat, white shirt, tonal tie and black dress shoes may not be groundbreaking, but it’s foolproof.

Taking the waistcoat off piste and informal is a little trickier, but it can be done. Wearing it with a T-shirt is a seriously bad idea; try instead opting for a shirt worn without a tie. In the spirit of David Gandy, a grey or camel herringbone design will make a handsome companion for a blue chambray shirt worn unbuttoned at the collar. Stick on some black slim jeans and some black penny loafers and you’ve just done what the haters said wasn’t possible: successfully worn the waistcoat without a suit.

Where To Buy A Waistcoat

Marks & Spencer

Like Southgate himself, Marks & Spencer is humble, unshowy and doesn’t do too much fanfare. As such, we’d forgive you if you missed that fact that this stalwart of the British high street has upped its tailoring game considerably in recent years.

Here you’ll find reasonably priced waistcoats in practically every shade of navy and grey you could think of, which is the ideal if you’re looking to colour match to a suit already hanging in your wardrobe.

Buy Now: £19.50

Topman

Those hoping to rock a waistcoat without looking like an extra from Peaky Blinders could do worse than head to Topman which goes modern on fit, fabric and design.

With most examples on offer sitting comfortably under £50 and with a few style curveballs (horseshoe and shawl collars) thrown in for good measure, there’s plenty to love about Topman’s take on this icon of tailoring.

Buy Now: £20.18

John Lewis

Thanks to an unwavering commitment to quality at a fair price, John Lewis has become one of Britain’s best-loved brands. But, if you thought that this mid-market heavy hitter was average on the menswear front, then take a look at its waistcoat offering which is chock full of Italian fabrics and attractive designs. It’s fine tailoring, but it’s extremely democratic.

Buy Now: £59.00

Charles Tyrwhitt

It’s near impossible to both remember the correct pronunciation of Charles Tyrwhitt and to not think of the brand on mention of the word ‘waistcoat’. With just a fleeting glance at its comprehensive range you’ll see why it’s synonymous with the latter.

While every waistcoat may be woven from wool, there are lots of design variation to get stuck into with enough different linings, finishes, colours and collar styles to ensure you’re spoilt for choice.

Buy Now: £70.00

Reiss

Tailoring at high-end high street retailer Reiss bridges the gap between shiny flammable polyester horrors and bank account battering Savile Row numbers – its waistcoats unsurprisingly follow suit. In a largely conservative colour palette, to the untrained eye the brand’s offering of waistcoats may look reasonably straightforward, but slim-fits, double jetted welt pockets and interesting weaves bring the old classic bang up to date.

Buy Now: £115.00

Hawes & Curtis

Hawes & Curtis is a big name in men’s formal tailoring, and if the sheer volume of waistcoat design options from the brand is anything to go by, it’s a reputation that’s very much deserved. Styles here come patterned, plain, in a healthy range of colours and for the maximalist, there’s a smattering of designs which feature a contrast colours to the reverse. If you can’t find a waistcoat to suit your needs at Hawes & Curtis, you’re frankly being way too picky.

Buy Now: £40.00

TM Lewin

Since its foundation over 100 years ago, TM Lewin has grown to become a familiar fixture on high streets and at train stations, which means that levelling up your waistcoat game could scarcely be easier.

Expect to find designs crafted from pure Italian wool, a variety of button designs and options and styles of fit designed to suit every man’s taste.

Buy Now: £70.00

Suit Supply

Launched in the year 2000, Suit Supply may be much younger than its storied competitors in men’s tailoring, but the Dutch brand got up to speed with the competition impressively quickly.

Alongside cotton and wool designs, the label is particularly skilled at producing linen waistcoats, which are just the thing for staying sharp and sweat-free if you’re at a summer wedding.

Buy Now: £89.00

Gieves & Hawkes

With its flagship location sitting pretty at number 1 Savile Row, it’s no big shocker that British institution Gieves & Hawkes has got its finger on the pulse of the world of tailoring. The brand’s waistcoats distil all of that tailoring knowledge into designs which err on the traditional side, prizing quality fabric, exacting craftsmanship and timeless style above all else.

If you’re in the market for a luxury investment piece but don’t want to make your bank manager weep, make Gieves & Hawkes your final destination.

Buy Now: £205.00

Chester Barrie

Regularly worn by one of Britain’s best suit wearers (Mr Gandy, FYI), Chester Barrie is a tailoring brand which goes a long way to dispel the myth that Savile Row is for wadded geriatrics only: at any given London movie premiere, a piece of the brand’s tailoring is near guaranteed to be pacing the red carpet.

Waistcoats from this purveyor of fine tailoring do that rare thing of fusing timeless style, obvious quality and a surprisingly reasonable price tag: consider us card carrying members of club Chester.

Buy Now: £93.00

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fashioneditswebsite · 2 months

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13 top looks from the 2024 Vanity Fair Oscars after-party

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