vol #42: train lord, the new hipster & futility
miss me?
anyway, welcome back (okay, presumptuous of me!!!) to sent from my iphone with love, your hot links to epic things that i have found On The Line and the irl bit, which is hot reccos for Real Life Living™. it’s been a moment. missed you!
posh and becks in the madam tussaud’s christmas nativity scene with kylie as the angel, naturally
this is the online bit
the new hipster starter pack, vice
ben sent this to me and now we both agree that we can’t read anymore. sorry!
in all seriousness, nothing gets me amped up like a truly hyper specific insult. go through it and see how many blows to the ego you receive. i don’t want to tell you how many boxes i ticked.
Salomons
The Salomon wave may have started with the gorpcore crews who spend their weekends trail running and wild camping, but they’re now a fixture in every gentrified drinking hole. Which makes total sense: how would all those junior art directors make the treacherous journey from the train to the office without a pair of utility shoes?
my only qualm is that i wasn’t in the writers room when they were coming up with this article. things i would add:
over the head earphones
dressing like a randomly generated character
satchels
i am guilty of all of these. at least i know who i am <3
troye sivan x gordon von steiner
hiring gordon von steiner as troye’s new creative director is the best thing troye, or his team, have ever done. both the rush and got me started music clips are perfect pieces of art. there’s this sweaty sheeny quality to them, like you’re coming up, like you’re at the perfect party where you feel horny and ecstatic and carefree and sexy all at once.
in terms of the songs themselves, i can take them or leave them. but to create such a visual cinematic universe for this new album… oh honey, now that’s what i’m eating up with a spoon.
i’m sooo pumped for when i’m famous and exciting enough to get a creative director. not that i have any interest in making music, but if they wanted to tell me what to wear everyday or what to do with my hair that’d be nice.
friend of the show, iz, has started her very own substack. this is exciting for you, because it’s about to blow the hell up, and is therefore a golden opportunity for you to tell your grandkids that you were there at the start. kinda like saying you were there at the beatles first concert. or for those who live in the 21st century, like saying you were one of the first people to choof on a single use vape.
the premise of the newsletter is a seres of expert guides to an assortment of hyper specific niches. i will, at some point, be writing my experts guide to [CLASSIFIED] but i’m telling you all about that’s niche before i feature so i appear a) a good friend and b) not a self involved little [REDACTED].
this is the irl bit
train lord, oliver mol
i read this obsessively over a few days on pebbled beach in southern italy. the sun shined high. i crisped up like a candied walnut and chewed on a hunk of artisanal supermarket salami, akin to a neanderthal ripping into a deer carcass. most importantly, i had my girlies by my side.
i had to read train lord quick, quick, QUICK! because she’s set in sydney, specifically the darlington/chippendale quarter where the girlies and i used to live. it was nice reading mol’s dreamy-nostalgic prose when i was with my honeys, but i felt for near certain i would simply implode if i read about sydney whilst i was by myself.
anyway, enough about me. i love how australian the writing is. i love an unreliable narrator. there’s a delicacy and an occa-ness to it that made my heart go OW! nothing shows greater grasp on language than someone who has the capacity to use it so plainly and sparingly. there’s no points for shoving as many four syllable words in a paragraph as possible. if i see ouroboros man handled into a sentence where it doesn’t belong one more time i will scream!
literally delicious breakfast moment alert! thank you for the book charlie!
pointy shoes
when i was at a club in berlin i met a friend’s friend (okay, yes, it was ben’s friend) who was wearing a button up, long cargo shorts and a pair of the pointiest boots known to man kind. if this was 2014 i probably would have been compelled to write something such as “a pair of boots so pointy you could stab a man!” thank god we’re past that era of cringe taylor swift feminism.
anyway, since meeting that hottie and those incredible boots, i’ve understood the point of sexy boots, is well, the point.
i acquired a pair on a sunny afternoon in shoreditch at a second hand sale and wore them to a party that night. they’re so chic that the fashion gays were complimenting them unprompted, which is when you knowwww you look good. those girls only throw a bitch a bone when they mean it.
futility
i have become extremely nosy with other people’s screens as of late. not people that i know, that doesn’t interest me, but rather complete strangers. it takes an hour to get anywhere in london, so that’s a lot of time to perve on the person’s phone next to you.
the other day i saw someone writing a heated email to their family about the inheritance split and today as i sit in a cafe, writing about how i would like someone to creative direct my life and a pair of fuck me boots i bought, the person next to me appears to be studying to be a human rights lawyer.
for a moment i was reminded of the futility of it all, and then i really thought about the futility of it all. not to be all pass the joint about it, but MY goD it is all pretty futile. i guess you just have to make time for the things that make you happy. like writing this dumb newsletter, this makes me happy.
ugh i’m literally never leaving you for that long again… sorry that was fucked up of me xxxxxxx