#they definitely don’t dress like pioneers but they haven’t been pioneers since they died so… 🤷‍♀️

[peregrinethegryphon]

Don’t mind me just googling something… trying to connect some dots here.

Any history/fashion experts wanna help me out? Idk if the clothing matches up but it would be so cool if it did.

[amphtaminedreams]

Sitting Front Row at...(On a Budget Obvs): Lookbook no.15

Hey to anyone reading!

And welcome to my fave lookbook I’ve done in a longggg ass time! Yes, that’s partially because it involved making collages and doing the low effort work of scouring Vogue Runway for “research purposes”, but I promise, that statement wasn’t made out of COMPLETE laziness-I am super happy with it too. It’s been a good use of pre-part-lockdown-lift time in the interim between that brief period of Christmas celebrations and eateries finally fucking opening again because let’s be honest, I always knew I was gonna get distracted by oat milk vanilla lattes and veggie all day breakfasts once I could actually sit down with them at my fave local cafe. You could say I was very much operating on a self-imposed deadline.

The “what I would wear to sit front row at...[insert designer here]” TikTok/Instagram reel trend was something I wanted to get on board with ever since I first saw one and whilst the option of doing my own live action take-I really cannot bear the thought of having to edit footage of myself awkwardly attempting to sit nonchalantly in front of a camera for hours on end-was off the cards considering my complete lack of screen presence, I decided a Tumblr text post would work just as well, and if not even better in a way. Given the absence of the time limitations you face when you’re making a reel or a TikTok I thought it’d be cool to present the looks as part of a mini moodboard for each designer which adds a bit of context to each look even if you aren’t familiar with their past collections and establishes the general vibe of the brand I’m attempting to replicate. Not to sound snotty or as if I am the font of all knowledge on anything high fashion related but even with my amateur knowledge I noticed that as the video trend took off and was adopted by big name influencers, it became less about the average person putting their own personal spin on the aesthetic of the labels we can’t ordinarily afford and more about them building outfits that only vaguely resemble the general public perception of the brand around the real corresponding (and often gifted and thus inaccessible to someone who doesn’t makes thousands for a sponsored post) pieces they own SO I thought I’d take the trend back to its roots and get a bit resourceful. All that being said, in no particular order, here are the outfits I would wear to sit front row at Gucci, Vera Wang, Miu-Miu, Marc Jacobs, Dolce & Gabbana, Brock Collection, Alexander McQueen, Etro, Burberry aaaand Saint Laurent based on their past collections and guess what? They didn’t cost a shit tonne of money :-)

-disclaimer: will include an asterisk before any new purchases if from a high street store though to be honest, I don’t think there are any, we shall see! I do include where I got old purchases from in case anyone wants to search anything on Depop/Ebay-

1. Saint Laurent (formerly Yves Saint Laurent)

-blazer from identityparty on Depop, pleather trousers from Zara, jewellery from Dolls Kill-

I know technically abbreviating Saint Laurent to YSL doesn’t really make much sense anymore given the brand’s name change in 2012, but I’ll always think of it as that in the same way I’ll always associate it with the slightly dishevelled yet simultaneously glitzy rock n’ roll aesthetic. The thing is, whilst YSL hasn’t done anything wildly out of the box for a long time, it’s rare they put a look on the runway that I wouldn’t wear; they never end up being a fashion week standout but the Parisienne take on grunge we’ve seen Anthony Vaccarello establish as his go-to will always have a place in my heart. 

2. Alexander McQueen

-embroidered leather jacket from Ebay (originally Topshop), harness from Amazon, dress from ASOS, boots from Koi Vegan Footwear-

Alexander McQueen is a brand that is pretty much universally liked, from the historically extravagant and groundbreaking shows the man himself put together to Sarah Burton’s more toned down but still beautiful collections. Obviously I didn’t attempt to do justice to the former, so I tried my hand at putting together a look inspired by Sarah’s blend of delicate femininity and nomadic edge, and it went...okay? Like it’s definitely not my favourite of all the looks because it does give off slightly cheap copycat vibes buuut outside of the context of this lookbook it’s cute.

3. Brock Collection

-boater hat from Ebay, midi skirt from morganogle on Depop, corset top from ownmode_, heels from amybeckett1, bag from Primark-

Brock isn’t as well known a brand as most of the others in this list but I adore everything Laura Vassar Brock does and I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to try and channel the vision of one of the OG pioneers of the cottagecore vibe through my own wardrobe. I mean fr, this woman’s work as a steady provider of meadow photoshoot worthy dresses and corsets and skirts is v slept on and I will not stand for it. I will sit in front of a camera and then write a paragraph in my blog post begging anybody who reads to give LVB (an abbreviation I acknowledge is unlikely to catch on because Lisa Vanderpump anybody?) some form of acknowledgement for her services to period romance novel inspired moodboards everywhere.

4. Marc Jacobs

-coat from House of Sunny, white shirt from Retro World Camden, co-ord from Sugar Thrillz, bag from Poppy Lissiman-

If there’s one thing Marc Jacobs always does, it’s COMMITS. TO. HIS. THEME. I just KNOW he has a secret Pinterest with separate boards for every fashion era of the 20th century and he is putting those boards to good use providing us with collections that are as immersive as they are eclectic year in year out. 

5. Miu Miu

-beret from H&M, hair clips from H&M, jewellery from Primark, coat from mollyyemmaa on Depop, shirt from YesStyle, sweater vest from YesStyle, skirt from Depop, diamanté belt from Brandy Melville, shoes from Koi Vegan Footwear-

We all like to talk about Bratz dolls and Monster High dolls and Barbies as fashion inspo but can we all focus on Cabbage Patch dolls for two secs so as to acknowledge the fact that a Miu Miu collection is basically all their fits grown up? And made boujie as fuck? If I want my fix of Wes Anderson meets Scream Queens (what a combo) inspired outfits, if I want prissy and girlish but also glam, if I want to look like a bratty rich girl whose one redeeming quality is her eye for vintage clothes, I know where to look and that is the Miu Miu section of Vogue Runway. 

6. Vera Wang

-blazer as in no.1, velvet bralet from catdegaris on Depop, harness from Amazon, skirt from Ebay, knee high socks from Ebay, lace up boots from Ebay-

Vera Wang’s RTW aesthetic, a blend of the ethereal, ultra-feminine bridal designs she’s known for and British style punk rock influences, is something I feel has only become firmly established in recent years but it is everything I ever wanted and more. I always find myself trying to balance the part of me that loves everything girly and delicate and pretty and the part of me that would love to be in a biker gang and Vera’s collections are always an inspirational reminder of just how well it can be done.

7. Burberry

-coat from charity shop, suit from emmafisher3 on Depop, top from simranindia, shirt underneath from Zara, jewellery from ASOS-

Now I’m not gonna lie, I’m not the biggest fan of Burberry but there have been a few looks over the past few years I’ve really liked and as someone who owns numerous trench coats, high necks and way too much plaid, I thought it’d be an easy one to replicate. Plus, if you can count on Riccardo Tisci for nothing else you at least can rely on him giving you some layering inspo which is very much needed in a country where it literally just snowed in April and where my plans for today have just been cancelled because the iPhone weather app did a Karen Smith and didn’t predict rain for today right up until it started raining so thanks for that one British meteorologists. Your incompetence strikes again.

8. Etro

-corset from Urban Outfitters, vinyl trench coat from Topshop, boots from Ebay, black slip dress from kaoanaoleinik on Depop, fur trim afghan coat from louisemarcella-

Like with Brock Collection, Etro isn’t a hugely well known brand, but it is always one of my favourites-to add a spanner into the works of any attempts to cultivate a firm sense of personal style, I live for the ornate Bohemian look that Etro does so well just as much as I love both grungy and girly pieces, and so I really wanted to include a brand whose collections go down that route. It was a toss-up between this and Zimmerman, the flirtier, free spirit counterpart to the dark romance of Veronica Etro’s designs; her vision really shines through the most when it comes to the brand’s winter collections, imo, and given that I live in a country where winter or some weather state resembling it does seem to take up 70% of the year, I did decide on channelling her work rather than that of the equally talented Nicky and Simone Zimmermann this time round.

9. Dolce & Gabbana

-flower crown from ASOS, tiara from Amazon, earrings from YesStyle, dress from alicealderdice1 on Depop, opera gloves from Ebay, boots from Koi Vegan Footwear-

D&G is a brand I felt really conflicted about doing-I don’t include their current collections in my fashion week reviews based on the actions of designers Stefano Gabbana and Domenico Dolce over the last few years because I don’t want to mitigate the collective effort of fashion critics to push them towards irrelevancy. Though people like to claim the brand has turned a corner since Lucio Di Rosa was brought on board as the manager of celebrity and VIP relations last year (they are as prolific a force on red carpet fashion as ever), we haven’t seen any real meaningful apologies or reparations made by Dolce and Gabbana themselves which once again leaves us in the all too familiar quandary of whether or not we can separate the art from the artist especially when it is far too much of a simplification to only credit the two men for their work given there’s a whole design team behind them. There are a LOT of shitty people working in fashion, the whole industry is a bit of a cesspit if we’re honest, but I don’t think that should stop us from at least being able to appreciate old collections if we make sure we aren’t engaging in any kind of promotion of current works whilst doing so. D&G are a brand of high highs and low lows, with looks that range from hideously ugly to showstoppingly beautiful in a single show-when the looks are good, they are GOOD-and their presence in the fashion world is most definitely felt whether we want it to be or not. It would just be shit to refuse to recognise the existence of some real iconic runway moments, the practical work that went into the ornate detail and opulence that helped cement D&Gs place in sartorial history, the styling that’s made goddesses and fairytale queens out of modern day women as they’ve glided down catwalks, the far more extravagant and, let’s be real, sexier version of our world D&G shows have transported us to in the past. Will I talk about D&G ever again? No, and if you Google the scandals their brand has faced over the past few years, there are more than enough reasons why, but just this once I did want to pay homage to some of the collections, the snippets of which I saw on my Tumblr dashboard back when I was about 13, that first got me into fashion.

10. Gucci

-fur coat from Topshop, clips from Zaful, glasses from Ebay, dress from gracewright246 on Depop, shirt from Boohoo, blazer from charity shop-

Now last but, if you ever read any of my fashion week reviews (the likelihood of someone actually having read one of them and reading this is incredibly, incredibly slim lol, I wouldn’t read me either) you’ll know, definitely not least, is Gucci because Alessandro Michele comes through every!! single!! time!!

The man is truly the king of quirky throwback maximalism and it hurts my heart that a lot of people seem to think of it only as a brand associated with ostentatious displays of wealth. Year after year since Michele was made creative director he has released purposeful, fully-fleshed out collections which unravel themselves to us on the runway like time capsules containing the belongings of the rich and whimsical and yes that can sometimes result in outfits which are *ahem* a bit mismatched but it doesn’t matter because through fashion he manages to take us to a vivid version of the past where people could dress as freely and lavishly as they wanted to, into the wardrobe of a person unaffected by the side-eyeing of others. You get the impression he doesn’t design so much as plays around with some kind of enchanted dress up box and takes inspiration from there and to give that impression is only a credit to his talent-to make outfits so kooky and extravagant look like they were meant to be takes a boldness and genuine love for clothes that I do tend to feel a lot of the big name designers have lost in the pursuit of profit and the necessary placating of the dying customer base that keeps that coming in. Of course I'm not for a second saying Gucci does not care about profit, but at the very least, they have on board a creative director who genuinely has fun with what they’re putting out there and wants to make a statement too and that really shows; you can rest on your laurels and sell tweed boucle jackets to rich old white women for eternity but nobody’s going to mention your brand name and the word groundbreaking in the same sentence ever again unless they’re talking about what it was a century ago, you know (mentioning no names...unless...did I hear someone say Chanel)? That feels like such a shady way to end, lol, but I’m sure said brand will survive-to be fair, they’ve been included in every other What I’d Wear to Sit Front Row At video I’ve seen so although I’m always slagging them off for doing the saaaaame thinggggg year after year, for that same reason their aesthetic is instantly recognisable and so will always be a source of imitation. There are obviously pros and cons to being a brand which constantly reinvents itself but I think it’s totally possible to do that whilst maintaining an overall mission, and Alessandro Michele’s work at Gucci demonstrates that with ease.

Anyway, if you got to here, thanks for reading! I know I’m super behind on this whole TikTok trend and I know a Tumblr post instead of a video is a bit of a cop out but all the real, physically awkward ones out there know that watching yourself back is excruciating lmao, so I hope this does the trick. After this, I’m gonna get back to the reviewing S/S21 collections post though knowing me I’ll probs take a few days to get back into that because I feel like since I left full-time education (RIP me going back in a few months) writing continuously like this for any longer than about 15 mins fries what brain cells I have left. Again, thank you for reading and if you are, sending many good vibes your way! Stay safe!

Lauren x

[justanoutlawfic]

I Belong With You (You Belong With Me): Go Ask Alice

Summary: Lacey & James get to know more about each other. Turns out they're both nerds, just for different things.

Also on AO3

Storybrooke, Maine (October 28th, 2011)

 James attempted to peek through the newspaper that covered the windows but could only see the stories splashed across the pages, rather than the contents inside. He didn’t quite understand why the library had been locked up for so many years, but it bothered him to no end. He loved books. He could spend his lunch break, his evenings alone and the weekends getting lost in numerous adventures. From Jane Austen to George Orwell to Mary Shelley, he was never far from a novel. However, he was limited to the ones he had in his personal collection and what he could order off the internet. The mail system worked strangely in their little hamlet and it took forever to get anything in. If there was a library, at the very least it would be easier to borrow a huge stack and return them for more.

 The last time he asked Regina Mills about it, she said that there wasn’t anyone interested in running the place. According to her, the last librarian had died long before he was born and no one else had been interested in the job. It was such a shame too. He knew he wasn’t the only one that longed for a library. His eyes glanced towards Henry, the mayor’s son. The young boy was looking longingly at the building as well. A large leather-bound book was tucked under his right arm and he had a frown on his face. His head tilted up towards the clock expectantly. James looked up towards it as well, but couldn’t tell what was wrong. Everyone had been abuzz about the clock being fixed, but it didn’t seem like Henry was happy about it.

 Before James could move to say anything to Henry, the latter took off in the direction of a yellow Volkswagen bug. James shook his head. He had heard all about their town’s newcomer and the trouble she had been causing the mayor. On the one hand, he understood the appeal of wanting to get the child you gave up. On the other, Regina never lost. Even his own father was careful around her. Emma Swan had no clue what she was up against.

 Then again, if she was this determined, maybe Regina didn’t know what she had coming either.

 James turned to head back home; he had a long walk ahead of him. As he was doing so, he found himself face to face with Lacey. She was out of her waitress uniform and wearing a black sports bra along with matching leggings. Her auburn hair had been pulled back in a ponytail, showing off her sharp facial features. God, she was so beautiful. James had been in relationships before, but they never lasted very long. Albert made sure of that. No one was ever good enough or even if they were, Albert found something wrong with James. Sometimes he’d pick women for his son, only to say that he had changed his mind. As a result, James found himself a stuttering mess most of the time. He knew that there was no way Albert would ever approve of Lacey French. Yet, he also didn’t care.

 “We just seem to be running into each other everywhere,” he managed to give her a nervous smile.

Lacey shrugged, jogging in place. Her ponytail bounced along with the rest of her body. “I guess so.”

James stuffed his hands into his pockets. “You headed to work?”

“No…just on a run.”

He could’ve smacked himself. Why would she go to work like that? “Of course, right…”

“Look…I’m sorry about the other day. Just please don’t tell your dad, the last thing I need is Albert Spencer up my ass again.”

James’ brows furrowed. “Why are you sorry? And why would I tell my dad?”

Lacey frowned as the jogging slowly came to a halt. “I was a jerk to you. And I mean, your dad is one of the biggest assholes in Storybrooke…”

“So, you thought I’d just rat you out.” James bit his lip. “Not that I actually wanted to talk to you or anything.”

“Well, I mean…yeah.”

 James ducked his head. Of course. A pretty girl like Lacey and all she could think about was his scary father. God, why did Albert have to ruin everything for him?

 “I didn’t plan on saying anything to my dad. I didn’t even care how you talked to me, I thought it was funny. I thought…” He trailed off, not wanting to embarrass himself further. “You know what? Never mind, it doesn’t matter.”

 He started to walk away, ignoring the burning embarrassment in his stomach. James only made it halfway down the block when he heard Lacey calling for him. When he turned around, she was jogging his way.

 “I guess I’m an idiot. I tend to see myself and not much else,” she admitted. “It’s not a great flaw.”

“You’re not the only one in the world with it.”

“Still something I should probably work on.” She rubbed her forearm. “Look, I feel like I owe you a drink.”

“Oh, you don’t have to…”

“James.” Lacey gave him a Look. “A girl like me is offering to take you to the Rabbit Hole and buy you alcohol. Think about if you wanna turn that down.”

 James didn’t have to think twice. He offered her his sweatshirt since they were going to be heading into an establishment which made her do the cute head tilt. Ultimately, she accepted it, though she left it unzipped.

 “It is just the Rabbit Hole, after all,” she said.

 James had never been inside the bar in question. The last time he even had a drop of alcohol was to celebrate getting his undergrad and that was just a bit of champagne. The minute he stepped into the place; he knew it was different. It reeked of sweat, beer and nuts. AC/DC blared over the jukebox. The place was crowded with people. Some were around the tables, most settled by the pool tables. James was definitely the most overdressed of the bunch. The girls wore mini-skirts and tank tops, while the guys were in jeans. He had been walking home from work and was still in a burgundy sweater, corduroy pants and his dockers. As a waiter bumped into him, he worried about his glasses breaking.

 God, you are such a dweeb.

 There was that voice again. Where did it come from?

 Lacey lead him over to the bar. “What do you drink?” She asked, finding them two stools.

“I um, I don’t.”

She gave him a weird look. “You’re kidding.”

The tips of his ears turned pink. “I mean…I’m just not a bar guy. My brother and I had a six pack on our 21st?”

Lacey let out an intoxicating, adorable, vibrant laugh that absorbed James’ soul. “That is precious,” she said. “We’ll start you off easy.”

A guy dressed in a leather jacket with messy brown hair approached them from the other side of the bar. “Lacey,” he smirked at her. “The usual?”

“You know me so well, Keith,” she said. “And for my new friend, a rum and coke.”

Keith glanced in James’ direction and frowned. “Alrighty then,” he mumbled, before walking away.

 James felt even more out of place. Keith was clearly Lacey’s type. What was he doing here? Was this some kind of sick joke? Maybe he should think up an excuse and leave…

 “So, you were stalking the library,” Lacey interrupted his thoughts. “You like books or something?”

James blinked a few times. “Oh, um…yeah. I love them a lot actually. My minor was English Literature.”

“A college man.” Lacey let out a low whistle. “Very nice. Who’s your favorite author?”

“Probably Mary Shelley. Frankenstein is just one of the best books of that era. The responsibility of the doctor, the monster attempting to fight his nature but ultimately failing, the romances in the book too and the parental dynamics…” He trailed off with a shrug. “Sorry, I probably sound like a nerd right now.”

Lacey shook her head. “Nah, I think it’s cool you’re so passionate about it. I used to love reading when I was younger. My mother and I had a book club for a bit. Well, I don’t even know if you could call it that. We’d give each other book recommendations and then talk about them.”

 James watched as a haunting look overtook Lacey’s eyes. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, but he had never seen her so serious. Keith placed the drinks down and she quickly took a sip of her Jack Daniels.

 “Anyway, I don’t have much time for reading now but I probably get like you do about books, when music is involved.”

James tilted his head. “Oh really?” He picked up his own drink and took a big sip. The rum burned his throat and he nearly choked on it. Lacey smirked a bit.

“You okay there?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he set the drink back down and plucked out the cherry instead. “Guess I’m just not as good as you are with the liquor.”

“Takes years of practice and an alcoholic father, trust me.”

“Your dad is…”

“Moe French. He owns the flower shop.”

“Game of Thorns, I always loved the name.”

“I picked it. He wanted to call it “Rosie’s” or something stupid like that. We don’t even know a Rose” She rolled her eyes. “Told him people would be more attracted to a pop culture reference.”

“It was definitely the better choice.”

“Anyway, yeah, music. I have actual vinyls. My mom left me her record player.”

James grinned. “Seriously? I haven’t seen one of those in ages.”

“You know there’s this great record shop on Third, Dante’s. I’d probably spend all my check from Granny’s there if I could.” She took another swig of her drink. “I found a signed copy of Surrealistic Pillow that I’ve been saving up for, for months.”

“That’s…”

Lacey’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “White Rabbit.” He must have still looked confused, because she grabbed hold of his hands and shook them. “Jefferson Airplane, they pioneered psychedelic rock.”

“Oh…”

“You don’t know what that means, do you?”

“Do you know what iambic petameter is?” Lacey’s mouth formed a thin line. “Then we both have something to teach the other.”

Lacey giggled. “I guess we do.”

 James felt something buzzing in his pocket and reluctantly pulled his hand away from Lacey. He fumbled around for a bit before finding his phone. His father’s name lit up the screen, causing a lump to build. He slid the green bar across and held it to his ear.

 “Hey Dad,” he tried to be heard above the noise of the bar without shouting. “What’s up?”

“What’s up?” Albert repeated incredulously. “Where are you?”

“Just uh…with a friend.” Lacey gave him a puzzled look. “I’m gonna be home a bit late tonight…”

“You need to get to the hospital. Something’s happened.”

James could feel his heart beat faster. “Is David okay? Did he have another scare?”

“No, he’s awake.”

James blinked several times before the news registered. “I…I’ll be right there.”

 He hung up the phone before his dad could say anything else and then stared at the lock screen. It was a picture of him and David before everything went wrong. They had dinner after the latter left Kathryn. He was happy. Everything was going well. Who would’ve guessed days later, his brother would be found unconscious in the woods?

 “Is everything okay?” Lacey asked.

James looked up, catching her appearance of genuine concern. “That was my um…my dad. My twin…he woke up from his coma.”

“Holy shit.”

“I…I have to call a taxi to get to the hospital…I um…I don’t have a car.”

Lacey tilted her head. “Your dad is Albert Spencer and you don’t have a car?”

“He doesn’t want me to have one.”

She stared at him for a moment. “Okay, I’d say we’d take mine but I jogged here. We can just borrow Ruby’s Camaro.”

“Lacey…”

“I only had half of one drink. I’m fine to drive, and Ruby and I borrow each other’s stuff all the time.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I know I don’t. I’m still going to.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

James and Lacey raced into the coma ward, both nearly out of breath. He lead her into David’s room and came to a pause in the doorway. His brother sat up in bed, the tubes still in his nose. David’s blue eyes were open wide and he was looking around at everyone. Albert stood off to one side, looking disappointed. Mary Margaret, the schoolteacher, was still in the corner. Emma was with her. He didn’t quite understand that either.

 “David,” he said, softly.

David looked in his direction and a small smile came over his face. “Hi,” he whispered.

“It’s about time you showed up,” Albert said, gruffly. He stormed over to his son. “What took you so long?”

James immediately ducked his head. “I’m sorry, there was a lot of traffic on Main Street…”

“It’s not as if it matters,” Emma cut in. “It took us time to get him back.”

“Get him back?”

“Your idiot brother woke up from his coma and decided that was the perfect time to take an evening stroll.” Albert threw his hands in the air. “I got really lucky with my sons; I tell you that much.”

“Oh yes, they were far blessed to be given you,” Lacey mumbled.

 Everyone in the room turned to the woman who wore James’ sweatshirt. Albert looked between her and his son, his eyes narrowing.

 “And you are?”

“Lacey French.” She took a step forward. Her chin jutted outwards. “Your son and I were hanging out when he got the call, and I gave him a ride.”

“Right, Miss French.” Albert looked her up and down. “I thank you for getting James here, but this really is a family matter.” He looked back at Mary Margaret and Emma too, as if to communicate the same message. “Surely, the three of you understand.”

 Mary Margaret looked hesitant but nodded. She walked out of the room with Emma following behind her. Sheriff Hubert was waiting not far out the door to ask them a few questions, in no doubt about David’s disappearance. Lacey stood firm, her eyes on Albert for a few moments. Finally, she turned to James and began to shrug off his sweatshirt. He held up a hand to stop her.

 “You can keep it,” he whispered. “It’s chilly out.”

Lacey nodded. “I’ll see you at the diner tomorrow. We’ll make sure to have your order ready.”

 Sparing Albert one last glare, she left the ward. David and James were left with their disapproving father who stared at the eldest twin. James simply moved closer to his brother and ran his fingers through his hair, mumbling questions to him about him waking up, where he had gone, etc. Even so, he wasn’t stupid.

 Albert wasn’t done with the topic of Lacey French.

[doomedandstoned]

Closer to the End

Depression is my nemesis. Eventually it will kill me.

...if I let it.

By Billy Goate

Art by RusoTsig (@rusotsig)

Life's falling away from me. The visual evidence is all about. Unopened mail builds up at random spots around the room like mini Towers of Babel. Even things that normally give me great delight -- a recently delivered set of vinyl records -- lie undisturbed in their brown cardboard packages. Meanwhile, my email continues to multiply exponentially: 200 unanswered today, 400 tomorrow, 800 on the day after that (for the curious, the tally stands at 2,359 today). The very thought of opening my inbox makes it equivalent to walking out into open traffic, so I avoid it like the plague.

Meals have become simplified these days -- if it can't be eaten out of a package, forget about it. And all those empty wrappers? They, too, join the general disorder, decorating the landscape of my solitary hovel. Eventually, messages from friends and family go unread. Bills go unpaid (even when there are sufficient funds). The yard turns into a veritable jungle of tall grass, weeds, and sprawling bushes. Clothes go unwashed and hygiene is neglected for days at a time. Weekends are spent pouring over regrets about what might have been, brooding about the end of days.

As any doctor will confirm, these are classic symptoms of depression. What they can't tell you is how hopeless hopelessness can feel.

Karl Briullov - The Last Days of Pompeii (detail)

Black Sabbath’s final show in the Pacific Northwest. Usnea's album release party. Saint Vitus reunited with their first singer, Scott Reagers. The return of Sasquatch. Once in a lifetime small venue appearances by international bands, such as Cult of Occult. A rare hometown gig by Yob. Visits from Goya, Primitive Man, and countless others. Ceremony of Sludge. Even events with the Doomed & Stoned's own name stamped on them. All of these are things I've missed out on in the past year or two because of depression.

It's not that I was too down to even consider going. On the contrary, I was actively planning to go. I RSVP'd, bought tickets, and even checked out the camera equipment to film the shows. In most cases, I'd gotten dressed and readied, even told people to expect me, but for one reason or another I fell under the unyielding grip of depression and came up with an excuse for why I couldn't go. Then one day I just got tired of making excuses and stopped going out altogether.

In one case, I was halfway down the road on a two-hour trip to see Saint Vitus and Witch Mountain perform at Star Theater, when suddenly a wave of grief washed over me from head to spine. As soon as I spotted the nearest overpass, I exited, turned around, and returned home. Even shows I knew would be cathartic (Bell Witch playing their titular Mirror Reaper at a local watering hole) just couldn't cause me to drive a couple miles down the road. The few times I managed to go out, it was because I absolutely forced myself. I practically fought with my inner man all the way there, too -- teeth clenched, hands tightly gripping the wheel, rehearsing in my mind a myriad of reasons why I should just turn back and stay home.

For me, Alice in Chains captures the frustration perfectly in "Excuses":

Everyday it's something Hits me all so cold

Find me sittin' by myself No excuses, then I know

Depression has robbed me of so much. I've missed opportunities to collaborate with musicians and artists because of it. I've pushed away friends and family, until contact between us has become more and more scarce. I've even stopped celebrating my birthday. I have become a shadow of a man.

What's worse, there's been a new development: anhedonia. I remember only casually looking up the meaning of that word when reviewing Undersmile's album by the same name. Anhedonia basically means that you stop finding pleasure in life. As I browse through my friend's timelines, I find it difficult to relate to their happiness. I think quite often of the emptiness of it all, of being alone and growing older, and the ultimate futility of human pursuits. I often feel more of an observer than an actor in the great drama of life.

As you read all of this, bear in mind that I've managed to hold down a steady, full-time job for decades, right up to the present day. You see, some cope by drinking, others by eating, and others still chase the fleeting high of romantic love, but I found my copacetic in work (as absurd as that might sound). I’ve damn near worked myself to death over the past couple years, too, taking precious few "mental health days" or vacation. At one point, I stopped accruing paid time off, because I'd reached my limit and my boss had no choice but to mandate that I take two days off per month. Can you imagine? I’d been known to come into work on the weekend, rather than spend it alone with my thoughts. At least at work, I can stay distracted with something I feel makes some kind of difference.

I can't feel my life Makes me want to cry How bad i feel inside Like I wanna die

Destination unknown Wreckage in tow Depression grows I have no home

Lately, all I've wanted to do on the weekends is sleep. When I'm at work, I'm fine. I'm in the zone. I have purpose. Things make sense. I'm needed. When I'm home, I always have a list of to-dos, but no matter how busy I try to make myself, I find myself suffering with a lonely, aching feeling. It hurts to be alive. That's the only way I can describe it. So I go to sleep early -- and sleep and sleep and sleep -- without so much as the aid of melatonin. All I want to do is go to sleep and forget and wake up the next day and start fresh, hoping all of the oppressive feelings of darkness have left me. I'll sleep 9 hours, 10 hours, 12 hours is not unheard of, then curse when the alarm wakes me up to face the day. I haven't slept so much since I was a teenager.

At least some of my depression seems linked with sunlight. While the sun is out, I'm mostly okay. When I'm taking my meds, I feel possessed with purpose and I'm busy chipping away at a dozen assorted projects, networking with bands, record labels, and PR reps around the globe, auditing new records, editing submissions from my team, and occasionally summoning enough nerve to write an album review of my own. But when the sun sets and darkness takes hold, bathing the landscape in its sinister shadows, everything changes.

In the heart of winter, there is an existential dread that overtakes me when the sun sets. It's almost primitive. There seems to be no rational basis for feeling this way, unless we factor in some kind of code passed along in the evolutionary programming of the reptilian brain over the millennia. You know, that thing responsible for our fight or flight response -- the urge to either take a swing or get the hell out of Dodge.

Loneliness is not a phase Field of pain is where I graze

Saw my reflection and cried So little hope that I died

That cryptic note of horror hints at what happens when our coping mechanisms stop working for us. For me, it was burnout. I worked and worked and worked, and then I came home and did Doomed & Stoned in the evenings and weekends until I inevitably reached a point of absolute and total system overload.

We've seen a spate of deaths in recent years in the heavy music world stemming from depression. It seems to be the creative person's curse. Chris Cornell of Soundgarden. Linda Nygren of the Wounded Kings. Dozens more artist deaths are listed as "N/A" in Metal Archives, but you always wonder. Even an accidental drug overdose can owe its underlying cause to depression. Often it's hard to untangle addiction from the need to escape acute emotional pain.

Though it is tempting to buy into conspiracy theories linking suicide to pharmaceuticals, chemtrails, fluoride in the water, gangstalking, and covert government ops, it's important to recognize that suicide is nothing unique to our life and times. Narrowing the focus more specifically to musicians and other artistic types, we've had many historic instances of depression. Think Beethoven, Franz Liszt, and Tchaikovsky -- three people who pioneered much of the musical language that doom metal utilizes for expression. Each experienced prolonged periods of melancholia for various reasons, from physical malady and loss-fueled grief to unrequited love and the utter rejection of society. Arguably, Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky died at his own hand.

Perhaps it won't surprise you that many of us who have an affinity for doom metal (though certainly not all) are also at risk for suicide. A recently published study by the University of Manchester found a correlation, though not a causal link, between members of "alternative subcultures" and "the risk of self-harm and suicide." There was no definite conclusion drawn from the piece, other than to point out that a problem exists (no kidding) and that more long-term studies are needed.

I've got a notion as to why heavy music draws the heavy-laden: misery loves company. We're drawn to the mysteriously compelling ability that doom has to commiserate with our feelings, from lyrics that deal so honestly with sadness to the solace of sharing a joint with those who are on a similar path.

But sometimes depression is so severe that you don't want to go out on the weekends at all, not even for your favorite band. Before I get too deep into my own story and how I'm treating my depression, some of you may wonder why I am writing this piece and have decided to share it publicly. I can assure you, I have nothing to gain from this. I'm not crying out for help (I'm too stubborn to ask for it when needed, anyway) and I'm certainly not trying to sell you on anything.

To be truthful, I've been chipping away at this piece (currently standing at 53,726 characters) for two years. I revisit it when the depression hurts the most. It acts as a kind of release valve for me and since that's at least providing some relief, I'll keep scribbling words upon this page. So before you leave thinking this was all just a self-indulgent slab of depression porn, stay tuned. There really is more to the story, including some valuable insights I'm learning about dealing constructively with my depression and its underlying causes -- physical and psychological.

To be continued...

  ★ Read Part II

  ☆ Read Part III

Here I sit writing on the paper Trying to think of words you can't ignore

See the cycle I've waited for It ain't like that anymore

[ramosalaplaya]

How George Saunders became the only British footballer in South America

When George Saunders’ parents swapped Islington for Spain the young footballer gave up his dream of playing for Arsenal, but a new adventure was just beginning.

Being the only professional British footballer in South America might seem a daunting prospect for some but George Saunders isn’t fazed by the challenges of his unusual career path. “A lot of people are in the comfort zone but sometimes in life you’ve got to take a risk,” he says. “You never know what’s going to happen. I took a risk coming out to Colombia and now I’m living the dream.”

Saunders is the first Englishman to play in the Colombian top flight since the El Dorado era of the early 1950s, when a Fifa-imposed suspension on the league allowed clubs to sign players without having to pay transfer fees, thus enabling them to offer vastly increased wages.

The English trio of Neil Franklin, George Mountford and Charlie Mitten were just a few of the many renowned footballers to flock to the country – Alfredo Di Stéfano being another – as Colombia briefly became the leading destination for top players. Franklin lasted only a handful of games, but Mountford and Mitten, who was part of Sir Matt Busby’s first Manchester United team and earned the nickname “The Bogotá Bandit”, stayed for an entire season.

Saunders is now in his fourth year and plays for Envigado, who are currently third in the league – on the same points as leaders Atlético Nacional, who were crowned champions of South America in July when they won the Copa Libertadores. Recent Manchester City signing Marlos Moreno played a starring role for Atlético Nacional. “He’s a huge talent,” says Saunders. “Hopefully it will go really well for him in Spain and he can break through at City.”

After joining City in August, Moreno was immediately loaned out to Deportivo de La Coruña for the season. It is the sort of circuitous journey that is familiar to Saunders, with the 27-year-old appearing for a host of different clubs in three countries on two continents.

Born in London and raised in Islington as an Arsenal fan, Saunders was invited to join the club’s academy as an eight-year-old. It was the same year his father’s construction job took the rest of the family to Spain. Saunders remained in England at first, staying with his uncle and training in the youth teams at Arsenalas he lived every young boy’s dream.

“I went to watch them almost every game,” he says. “I was lucky to play a few games on the pitch at Highbury. But I missed my mum and dad and brothers and sisters. So one summer I went to Spain and was spotted by Villarreal in a summer camp.”

The four years he spent at Villarreal is the longest period he has remained at any one club. “That’s where I learned the language. That’s where I learned how to play football. I’ve got a Spanish style but with the English aggression.”

It was all going well until, in what seemed a decision more consistent with English academies, he was released because of his small build. Moves to Torre Levante and Espanyol followed, with his two years in Barcelona including a call-up to the Selecció Catalana, an experience he recounts with pride. “I think I’m the first ever English footballer to play for the Selección Catalunya. My mum and dad still have the photos. I was in the Under-17 side with Bojan Krkic, Thiago Alcântara, Raúl Baena, Iago Falque, Victor Ruiz and Jordi Alba. They were brilliant players.”

While that sextet remained on the gilded road to success in Europe, Saunders’ route deviated. He left Espanyol and joined Segunda División side Eldense, before eventually being approached by Leyton Orient. “I went for a trial and did really well. I thought ‘They’re definitely going to sign me.’ At the last minute, Russell Slade came up to me and said: ‘You’re more than capable of playing in this league but with our budget we need someone who has played this level before. It’s difficult for a trialist to come over from Spain and for us to take a bet on them.’ They didn’t sign me and then the Colombia opportunity came up. I thought, ‘I haven’t got anything to lose’.”

Like many British players who move abroad, Saunders turned rejection into opportunity. A Colombian friend he had made in Spain was giving business advice to América de Cali chairman when the club’s new Brazilian star suffered an injury shortly after signing. They were in need of a midfielder and Saunders was flown in for a trial.

“I didn’t know anything about them so I looked them up,” he says. “All I looked at was their fans. I saw their amazing videos and massive banners and thought ‘Yeah, I love that’.”

For the first six weeks Saunders waited patiently to be selected. Knowing the language from his time in Spain was a significant advantage, helping him to make friends in the dressing room and understand instructions in training. He also learned that América de Cali had only recently been cleared from the Clinton List, which had imposed crippling financial sanctions on the club owing to previous connections to the country’s drug cartels.

“It was a bad time money-wise,” he says. “But I can only say good things about the club. They paid on time and I was really happy there. It was very different at first, a totally new experience. But I’m the sort of person who can adapt quickly. I’m very chatty and I love a banter with all my team-mates, so I settled in really well.”

When his chance finally came, Saunders grabbed it with both hands. He was picked for a cup game and delivered a man-of-the-match performance. In his second appearance he impressed again, setting up a goal in a crucial league match that earned him a welcome reception from the crowd. After establishing himself in the first team, everything seemed set for Saunders to sign a new contract at the end of the season. But he was suddenly forced to change his plans.

“The fans in Cali loved me but I had a problem with the trainer so they didn’t renew my contract,” he explains. “I was suspended for a game one weekend so had a glass of wine with my girlfriend over dinner one night during the week. I went to training the next day and they asked me about it. They were really strict about it because there are players here who have a drink and might not turn up to training the next day. They took it to another level.

“At that time I was one of the best players in the team and the crowd loved me, but they made a big thing out of it. It was in the papers. Really, the Brazilian player who was injured had recovered and they wanted to put him in the team. But to do that they had to take out a foreigner because you can only have so many in the squad. When you want someone out you can make up any excuse.”

It turned out to be a good move and, just four months after beating Fortaleza 3-0 with América, Saunders returned the favour with his new team on the road to promotion. “It worked out well because I left America and became champion with Fortaleza. We played America five times, beat them three times and drew twice. I had a good game every time, which I suppose sort of rubbed it in a bit, but that’s life, that’s football. Now I’ve got a good name in Colombia and have been playing in the first division ever since.”

A subsequent move to the coast and Union Magdalena didn’t work out – “I had a really bad time there as I couldn’t handle the heat” – but Saunders is now settled in Medellín with Envigado. It is the part of Colombia previously home to Pablo Escobar’s notorious drugs cartel, but the city’s bloody history – which has been dramatised in Netflix series Narcos – doesn’t worry Saunders.

“I’ve been up to the favelas here at Christmas and if you’re with people they know you won’t have any problems. I think anywhere in the world, if you go somewhere you’re not invited, or you go into an area where you shouldn’t be, then you’re going to be in danger. Since I’ve been here I’ve been told ‘Wherever you go, make sure you’re in an area with people you know’ and it’s all been OK. Out of all the cities I’ve lived in I love Medellín the most. I get a lot of attention but I feel very comfortable here because people are really nice to me and polite.”

As well as the right city, it seems Saunders has also found the right the club after a career on the move. He currently plays alongside two former Colombia internationals and relishes the opportunity to play professionally.

“Here in Envigado we have Andrés Orozco and Bréiner Castillo, the goalkeeper. They’re veterans now but they played for Colombia and have had a really good living out of the game. There are a lot of talented youngsters here but many of them don’t have the opportunities money-wise. A lot of them join clubs but then disappear because they come from poor backgrounds and haven’t got the security to be able to carry on playing.”

Saunders’ own journey has finally reached a period of stability in Colombia’s top flight. He lives with his girlfriend in Medellín and sounds content as he talks about his future.

In the background, his friends are cheering on Colombia in their World Cup qualifier against Venezuela. “We’re just watching the game,” he says. “They’re playing in Barranquilla on the coast and it’s so hot there. I played there at 3pm once and it was a joke.”

Having previously remarked that one of the few things he misses about England is pie and chips, Saunders says he barely even thinks about that anymore. He has found new comforts in Colombia, with family the only thing on his mind when he thinks of home. “The only thing I miss is my family. My dad and my mum have been out. My mum was here for my birthday not long ago.”

More than 5,000 miles from London and bridging a 60-year gap in English football exports to Colombia, Saunders is a modern pioneer. But his trailblazing exploits don’t bear a great deal of personal significance. In reality, he’s just a boy from North London who turned up looking for a game. He now hopes the adventure will continue for many years to come.

“I love everything about Colombia: the weather, the people, the food. I’m doing something I’ve always loved. There’s nothing better than waking up and doing what you want to do. Sometimes in life your destiny is written and I think I’m supposed to be here.”