Amber's Mouthwash is a fashion blog. Why "Mouthwash"? Because most of us never take the fashion we see "as is". We observe, take it in, style it in our closets, and then "rinse out" [wear] our own version in our everyday lives. E-mail me at ambersmouthwash@gmail.com
Find Vichy Products and other fine makeup goods at SkinCareRX
Trying new things: mixing metallics, playing with texture, and experimenting with layers.
I sort of want to wear thigh highs with everything now.
PS - sorry about the no-show Sunday post; I was having major issues with blogger. It wouldn't save my posts, it gave me "rejected server" messages when trying to upload photos, and picasa was throwing me for a loop. Had to resort to Photobucket. Any ideas?
PPS Sorry about the quality with some of these...learning curve. Instead let's call these a post modern nod to Cindy Sherman; but a Cindy who had played with Barbie. Nicely.
This coat has got quite the story. In the spirit of Halloween, I figured I'd give it a Trick or Treat spin. I'll tell you two stories; one will be true [the treat], and the other will be false [the trick], and you tell me which one is which!
First story:
It was a lazy Sunday, early afternoon. There I was, in the park, minding my own business when from around the corner, came a homeless man. For my town this would be nothing out of the ordinary. We have homeless shelters, that invite them to stay for the night, and by 9am, they hit the streets by the droves. However what stood out was his awesome style - and the fact that he was wearing two coats, and carrying two extra ones.
"Wanna buy a coat?" He asked. I shook my head no. Turns out he had gotten them free at our local Occupation protest. "Do you know any place that will want to buy some?" I suggested that he try a store two blocks down. As he started to walk away, something caught my eye - it looked like wool, and it had leather toggle buttons.
"That's a really nice coat you've got!" I said, pointing at the one hanging on his arm. "I'll sell it to you" He responded. I told him that I only had $10 on me. "Done!" He said.
And the coat was mine.
second story:
I have a thing for crackers. As a matter a fact whenever we buy them at the store, my boyfriend takes to hiding them from me while he's gone (otherwise I'll consume the entire box in a day). I've even been known to stuff crackers into my pockets when preparing to leave the house. Don't judge me.
Our little studio is so small that every summer as soon as the weather gets warm, all of our cold weather coats and scarves go into storage. This week we went to go get the coats out of storage. The experience is always like a mini-Christmas: "Oh how I have missed this ______". So imagine my glee when we unpacked this coat. Scooping up my collection of cold weather fashions, we piled them into the trunk, and brought them home.
Once home however, it seemed that my dear kitty Eloise, had a new vested interest in my coat. As a matter a fact, she kept trying to dive IN-to it. To get her off the coat, I picked it up and moved it to the bed - and that's when I saw it. A mouse.
There was a mouse living in my coat!! Turns out there were some left over crackers from who knows when, but he had found them and had decided to stay!!
Lush Dress, Jessica Simpson boots, Forever 21 knit cap
So dear readers! Which story is the tick, and which one is the treat?
Monsieur Mondrian like many artists had a love affair with the City of Lights, Paris. He also had quite the mustache: it was similar to his artwork in that it was simple, not over done, but not easily over looked either.
Piet Mondrian described his art work as "a search for beauty in it's most simple (honest) form"; line, shape and color. Don't all colors stem from the primary? And don't all shades and hues ride the slope of black and white? In a time where the population was trying desperately to recover from a world war, frivolity seemed like a fairytale: foreign, silly, and only for those refused to face reality. Mondrian wanted a simple world. A realistic world. But above all, he wanted a world where beauty could still exist, unspoilt. The world it seemed, had gone gray - and he wanted to add a bit of color.
PS A big warm welcome ans HI!!! to Mouthwash's newest readers, Kim of Sassy Uptown Chic, and Véronique of French Girl in Seattle. Thank you for being readers!
I have a confession. I know I have been sharing with you my amazing experiences on the cruise, and the beautiful photos from the places that I visited, but there was also something rather dark and frightening that came along with my time at sea.
I acquired a stalker.
It began with a simple request to dance. My sister and I had discovered the rather addictive appeal to Karaoke, and had just finished "supporting" another performer by dancing while she sang. I sat down in my seat, as another got up to sing. A man made his way across the room and asked me to dance. Innocent enough right? I said yes, we introduced ourselves, and when it was over I sat down. I thought that was it.
I thought wrong.
What followed quickly turned into a cat and mouse game. He found me the next day in the lobby and wanted to hang out - since he was with a group of people, I made the incorrect assumption that "hanging out" meant with him and the others. When I found out that it didn't, I excused myself.
Things started to get uncomfortable when I caught one of his friends secretly photographing me when he thought I wasn't looking. He had come with a group of 95 other people - what was my photo being used for? At first I thought I was being paranoid; until he began showing up everywhere I was. The scenario was like this: I'd see or pass by a person from the group (that I knew of), and 5 - 10 minutes later, he would show up. He showed up in the lobby, the pool (and there were 6 of them), the jacuzzi I was in, my stateroom floor.
He wanted to know my room number, my last name (none of which I gave), he would follow me to where I ate and sit down wherever I was seated, he'd appear on the dance floor when I was with my mother.I would have perfect strangers come up and tell me where he was - as if he were looking for me, and wanted people to direct me to him. Had he and his 95 friends distributed my photo amongst themselves? His friends began coming up to my mother and asking her questions about me. I spoke to the staff, and they offered to have security follow me so that they could idenify him, since I basically didn't have any information on the guy.
Here I was, on my very first cruise ever. I was absolutely loving the ocean views, the travel, and the new experiences. I was loving the crew, my waitstaff, and the friends I was meeting along the way: but this man and appartent lack of personal boundaries was threatening to ruin my entire trip. It goes without saying that being on a boat, I felt trapped.
Finally, I got angry. Here I was on this incredible, once in a lifetime cruise with my family, and here was this creep who couldn't take a hint, making me feel violated and uneasy. I was checking over my shoulder everywhere and he was behaving like he owned me.
The last night of the cruise, he snuck up behind the couch I was seated on an leaned over me. And I snapped. Afterwards I was so shaky that I just wanted to go back to my room. I was sure that I had been firm, and that I had put him in his place, and that now everything had been settled.
The night I disembarked the ship I had a friendship request from him waiting for me on Facebook. How on earth has he gotten my last name?
I had honestly thought that I had left him, and his pathetic drama on the boat, out at sea. But really, he had followed me home. I've had nightmares of seeing him here in my hometown. And while part of me feels foolish for letting the experience affect me in such a powerful way, I also have to come to terms with the fact that it really did frighten me. It's taken an emotional toll that I didn't expect, and it's affected my blogging as well. I can't help wonder if this man is now reading my blog as well.
Long before Sophia Coppola's short film for the Miss Dior Chérie perfume, and the Disney-Pixar film Up, there was Albert Lamorisse's short film, Le Ballon Rouge.
Filmed in 1956, in the Montmartre neighborhoods of Paris, the film is about a boy and his magical red balloon that follows him around the city. Pascal, the little boy in the film discovers the balloon while on his way to school. The two quickly become friends; they share in the adventures of an overbearing school master, a stray puppy, and school bullies.
Set against a backdrop of a grey Paris (perhaps winter), Pascal and his balloon brighten the scene wherever they go.
There is a delicate innocence about the film that immediately draws you in. Pascal is simple in the fact that he doesn't require much from his friend; he only wants companionship. While on his lunch break from school, the two play a game of hide and seek.
What Lamorisse was able to do in his 34 minutes of film was create absolute magic. There is very little dialogue. Rather, he chose to communicate through color and music. The final result is a film that captures the memory of childhood, and the nostalgic innocence that we remember it.
I highly recommend this film! If you have Netflx, you can watch it on Instant Play. You may also find the full version of the film on YouTube, by clicking here.
Hi Readers! I have something that I am super excited to share with you. As you know, Jennifer Fabulous, from I Know, Right? has been a frequent guest blogger here on Amber's Mouthwash. Well, I've decided to give her a permanent spot here on the blog. Every month she will post here on Amber's Mouthwash, and her feature is called Jenny's Mouthwash! I'm so excited! I'm so happy to have her as a friend, and all her posts (both here on the blog and on her blog) are so incredible. Enjoy!
Hello friends, it's Jennifer Fabulous! I am so excited to have a regular feature on Amber's Mouthwash!
I've always felt like Amber's blog was the prettier and more charming sister to my own, so I'm really flattered she asked me to be part of her world!
For those of you who do not know me, I am a fashion-obsessed journalist who blogs about pop culture, my crazy life, films, and interesting celebrities.
My feature here will basically be a little taste of my blog every month. It's going to be completely random and utterly fabulous, I promise.
Anyway, enough about me! Let's get on to my first post.
Recently, Amber and I fell in love with a song, Video Games, by a recently discovered musician, Lana Del Rey.
I was really excited to learn more about Lana. Keyword: was.
You see, there used to be a time when movie studios would manufacture stars. Actors were given different names, allowed to spin their own backgrounds, and basically reinvent themselves as completely different people.
Unfortunately for Lana Del Rey, those days of 1950s Hollywood are over.
Mostly because technology, such as the internet, allows anyone to research your past. And Hollywood quickly realized the public isn't stupid.
I was so optimistic about Lana. I truly believed there was a new star on the horizon, destined to bring us into a delicious soul-infused music revolution.
After all, her latest single, Video Games, is hauntingly beautiful and heartbreakingly eery.
When I saw the video, I was a little confused by the cheesy montage of hipster youtube clips and I was creeped out by Lana's botched lip job, but I merely figured she was a little rough around the edges and let's face it, not everyone is perfect.
Plus, I discovered that Lana made the video herself, by looking up random youtube clips. It's not every day that a recording artist makes their own video, so I cut her some slack.
It wasn't until I researched for this post, that I realized the joke is on us.
Lana Del Rey isn't the hottest new discovery in the music industry. She was carefully crafted by a ruthless band of managers and music producers, who are hungry to Americanize and cash in on the British white female soul singer phenomenon.
First of all, her name isn't really Lana Del Rey. The 26-year-old has admitted the stage name was chosen for her by managers who thought her music would sell better if it was reminiscent of Hollywood glamour.
In some interviews, Lana claims she grew up in a trailer park in New Jersey, in other interviews she admits she went to boarding school.
In reality, Lana Del Rey is Lizzie Grant, the daughter of a wealthy internet mogul. You can read a cover story about him here, from four years ago.
Clearly, this is not a girl who grew up in a trailer park.
And then there is the plastic surgery. Those awful floppy Donald Duck lips that sway with the wind.
The reason her fake lips bother me is for two reasons. One, Lana was a pretty girl without them. And two, she claims she has NEVER HAD HER LIPS DONE.
Let's take a look, shall we?
Here is a photo of Lana and her father from a few years ago:
Here is a photo of Lana now:
The fact that in interviews she denies having her lips done is insulting to not only her fans, but to anyone with eyes.
I would have more respect for her if she had told interviewers that her lips got stung by a wasp every single day. Because even though she would be lying, at least we could all share a good laugh. But no, she chooses to take us all for fools instead.
When she's not busy getting her lips injected, Lana enjoys giving herself pretentious titles she hasn't earned yet. She calls herself the "gangsta Nancy Sinatra" and describes her own look as "Lolita in the 'hood." If you watched her music video earlier in this post, you are probably wondering why the hell she calls herself these things. I'm still baffled.
Her blatant lies and drastically altered image have already caused huge controversy amongst music bloggers. She has been labeled the "Frankenstein of Indie."
Some people may argue that her makeover is no different than the pop princesses you see every day, such as Lady Gaga or Britney Spears.
But there is a difference. Pop music is based on image. It is based on the unreality.
But Lana's soulful ghost-like crooning belongs to an entirely different category: real music.
How are we supposed to believe the pain in her voice and respect her as an artist, when she's more processed than a freshly-wrapped Twinkie?
I want to believe her. I want to respect her.
When I close my eyes and allow my ears to drink up her smoky melody, laced with beauty and dripping with sadness, a part of me does.
But then I open my eyes and I don't.
-- Edit: several of you have felt that this post is being rather unfair to Miss Lana. Please understand that while Ms. Fabulous is certainly entitled to her opinion (just as my readers are!), that not everything that is said here mirrors my thoughts exactly. She is a guest whom I proudly feature here on the blog regularly, and I while I may not always agree with her 100%, that is part of the joy of having this platform: to diversify! I should also add that Jennifer and I both enjoy (and do!) listening to her music. I even feature her in my outfit video posts. Neither of us "hate" her - not in the very least. Thank you for reading and sharing your thoughts!
