on the beach you'll find them there in the sun and salty air, the girls on the beach

I am gearing up for a trip to the beach next week and I've gotten to thinking about how to survive the ocean. As I've said before I hate the ocean, but this time I'll be there with some friends from university so I'm going to buck up and give the beach a second try. While in the process of doing that, I've started contemplating my beach essentials. 

1. Retro-inspired swimsuits like this one from ModCloth, the 'Bathing Beauty' two-piece in black. I own this swimsuit, as well as the 'Beach Blanket Bingo' one-piece in black with white polka-dots and its two-piece version in red.

2. A wide-brimmed floppy straw hat to keep your eyes and skin shaded from those damaging sun rays.

3. A speaker to play music - I am partial to the Yuen'to Balloon USB portable speaker because it reminds me of a clown's nose. Also the sound is incredible.
4. A good book, like Françoise Sagan's Bonjour Tristesse, which I currently have stashed away in my bag.
5. Cute straw beach bags like this one from Tory Burch.
6. A good sunscreen - I love this Kiehl's Super Fluid formula because it doesn't pill like a lot of other sunblocks out there. And with an SPF of +50 I feel confident that I'm getting good protection.
7. A couple of pairs of oversized sunglasses - the bigger, the better I say! So these sunnies by House of Harlow 1960 more than fit the bill.

Do you have any summertime beach essentials? 

Title: "Girls on the Beach" (Beach Boys)

now baby i believe this is real, so take a chance and don't ever look back

Seemingly improbable things have happened to me throughout my life - I've had interactions with people that I know I am not cool enough to be even six-degrees-of-Kevin-Bacon from. For starters, when I was a just a little whip of a thing, I fell down in front of Sidney Poitier and then proceeded to have a hissy fit in front of him at the Brown Derby restaurant in California (did I mention this was the Hollywood episode of I Love Lucy?). I only calmed down when he told the waitress to give me straws with Disney characters on them. Honestly, I still redden with embarrassment when I watch Lilies of the Field. A few years after that, I flew on Jack Abramoff's jet. Granted it wasn't until watching a certain Kevin Spacey movie with my parents that I was informed whose jet it even was. When I was a teenager, Sophia Bush told me she liked my sweater (well duh, it was a really cute sweater - so that's more props to her I suppose). Most recently in February at the Lucky FABB event, I accidentally insinuated to Brandon Holley and Rebecca Minkoff that my father was gay (he's not - he just really does love Fashion Police). 

I'm not saying any of this to sound braggy or bitchy because, honestly, a lot of these moments are kinda embarrassing to me and I have no reason to boast about my inability to socially interact with people. Telling y'all this is a build-up to what I found today - an event that constitutes one of my most surreal experiences with someone who shouldn't even know I'm alive, that I'm writing blog. Mainly because I sometimes write about them on the site. 

So, just for some more backstory, I'll tell you this: Folks, I don't understand Twitter. I'm intrigued by it, and open to using one, but it's reaaaaally hard for me. I don't know how to use it, how to interpret it, how to understand the '@' signs and hasthtags. And don't even get me started on 'trending' - seriously, don't. So much confusion has stemmed from this phenomenon that apparently everyone else in the universe understands. But being a Twitter twit doesn't stop me from reading other peoples' Twitters. I love to read through the 160-character musings of Kanye West, the humor of Aziz Ansari and Donald Glover, and the sometimes too-true revelations of White Girl Problems. I also occasionally like to search around to see if some of my icons from retrodom have entered the Twitterverse. So imagine my excitement when I come across the twitter site for Bebe Buell. Here I can read goofy comments and muse-ful musings (excuse the corniness of that) of a true rock goddess. I know that there were comments exchanged on this site many, many months ago regarding Buell's book, with my stating that what I liked least about the book was that I didn't feel that it captured her voice as authentically as it could have. But with Twitter - minus rewrites, editors, co-authors, publishers and such - we can take a look at the full-on fabulosity of Miss Buell all by herself. 

So, of course, I stalked the hell of her Twitter. I read as many postings as I could - just one right after the other - until I stopped dead in my Tweet-tracks. What, may you ask, captured my attention so? This glorious little link staring back at me:

A million and a half thoughts came rushing in my head: How did she find my post? What did she think of it? Did she like it? Did she hate it? Was she offended that I thought there could be a style "now" to her "then"? Was this a fake Twitter account and maybe just a fan / loon was acting as her? 

I know I'll never have answers to my questions, and I know it's not nearly the big deal I am making it out to be. It's just a link. But I know I am going to continue to nerd-out and be obsessed with this. Why? Because I really am a huge fan of Bebe Buell, and this is such an awesome thing to me, because I think that this will be as close as I'll get to ever meeting one of my heroes. That ... and because it's summer and I don't have much else going on. 

Title: from "Teenage Dream" (Katy Perry)

"the nature of society is to create"

Let me explain the James Baldwin quote I so lazily and pretentiously made to be the title. You see, I was nominated by the lovely Miss Jess from You've Got the Silver for the 'Creative Blogger' Award. This award, in addition to pumping up my ego, entails that I list ten things about myself and then nominate more bloggers that I adore to have the award as well. 

So to get back to Mr. Baldwin, while this sentiment was not the one he was necessarily trying to communicate (the quote continues "...an illusion of safety" - yep, the nature of society is to create an illusion of safety, apparently) but this is the sentiment that I - a twenty-year-old chick who not just passed, but aced, her intro to philosophy class - is making. And we all know that the musings of a self-involved blonde girl are much more interesting than the political insights of a Baldwin not on 30 Rock.

I think that the nature of society - at least the blogosphere society - is to create wonderful works of art, writing, photography, poetry, or (in my case) really fabulous collages, and we share our genius with each other. I think this ability to have a communal use, love and appreciation of each other's work is incredible. Even more incredible is that it's in our very nature. 

Without further ado, here's the main attraction: ten fascinating facts about Barbara Walter's Most Fascinating Person of 2011 

1. I am double jointed. So is my grandmother, but it freaks her out. 

Note: this is not a photograph of me or my grandmother. Neither of us can play the piano. 

2. I am a member of a very eccentric family. We have the type of personalities and dynamics that would only be found on a prime time sitcom (or an E! reality show), in the best possible sense. 

I would be Kim, obvs. 

3. During my brief stint modeling during the ages of 14-16, the agency photographer told me I looked like Christie Brinkley. I was incredibly flattered. Not that I actually knew who that was at the time, though. I have also been told I could be a foot model (And by non-foot fetishists, to boot!)  

4. I love the smell of gasoline. No worries though, apparently so does Kate Moss. 

5. It breaks my heart to eat anything remotely resembling an animal. I can barely bring myself to eat a bunny-shaped chocolate for Easter.

Nor do I encourage the consumption of pug loaf. But this pup is too darn cute to not put up here

6. I think that tuberculosis is a very romantic disease. 

Like Greta Garbo in Camille and Nicole Kidman as Satine in Moulin Rouge. Minus the part where they both die in the end. 

7. I have a not-so-secret desire to be a hip-hop wife. 

I want this to be my life. Just Kidding. Not Really. 

8. I am the biggest wimp when it comes to wearing high heels. With the amount of complaining I do, you'd think that Kathy Bates had gone all Misery on my feet. 

9. When I was much, much younger, I fell into a table that Sidney Poitier was sitting at, and proceeded to cry obnoxiously as Mr. Poitier tried to comfort me. This was at the Brown Derby Restaurant. (Did I mention that this happened in 1954?)

10. One day, I am going to live in Paris. 

In the forthcoming hours, I will include my list of bloggers I would love to nominate for the Creative Blogger Award 

(I know, you're all at the edge of your seats in anticipation)

* I am being entirely sarcastic in the first paragraphs. I love James Baldwin and I know he's not related to Alec. Just throwing that out there. *

pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name

Hello everyone, I don't think we've ever been formally introduced. My name is Alexis, and I am the Dolly Rocker Girl.
Over the last two years that I've had this site, I've played around with different noms de plume - Jane, Queen Jane (I got a wee bit more creative there), I think I was Astrid for a time, the list goes on and on - until I finally just went back to Dolly Rocker Girl as my profile name.
It seemed simple enough - I wanted to be anonymous and to keep the site unattached from my own life, and having the nameless DRG at the helm of these posts seemed like the best option. It was not for the sake of mystery or interest à la Banksy, but there has been a bit of interest in the past about who I was (more often and not, the question was whether or not I was truly a Dolly Rocker Boy). 
But with the appearance in Lucky (after which I did the Facebook equivalent of screaming from the top of a mountaintop about) and the recent influx of emails that I've been getting, it seemed a bit ridiculous to still think I had a 'secret' to keep. All of my friends and family now know that I have a blog, and I felt a bit shady that the great dialogue I was having in these email correspondences was then made awkward when I would sign, "xxo DRG"
Not cool, former shady self.
Because each and every one of you have been so open and lovely and candid with me, I feel like the very least I can do is own up to my own name. While I don't think I'm at the point where I'm comfortable enough to post pictures that I myself take (I'm such a little worry-wart!), I do think that this is a step in a positive direction for DRG. The great thing about this site and so many others like it is that it inspires conversations to be had - on line, in emails, or in person. Knocking down that unnecessary, extra wall that separated us retro-groupies was a healthy, natural progression for the site. I hope that this step is just the start of many more to come - and I hope that you aren't too disappointed that I've destroyed any remaining allure of mystique in the site!

Title: from "Sympathy for the Devil" (The Rolling Stones)

life is brief but when it's gone, love goes on and on

It's a wee bit of a collage overload, but ya can't get sick of Jimi!

Sometimes I think it was unfair for God to have ever made Jimi Hendrix. Someone as fantastically beautiful and talented as he was could never have lasted long, and after just giving us a taste of Jimi’s brilliance, God took him away. But moments like these are usually fleeting and are overpowered by my love of this man. Yeah, yeah, I know he was a guitar virtuoso who advanced music a lot, yadda yadda yadda. But I will temporarily ignore this, instead focusing on the intense beauty of Mr. Hendrix. Day-uhmm, he was fine (only Jimi Hendrix warrants this statement ever being uttered by me). I mean, he was simply gorgeous. And his style – I have never seen a man dressed so well. He wore wide-brim hats with plume feathers, tasseled military jackets, gold medallions, velvet coats, paisley headscarves, heavy threads - basically every one of my most lusted-after sixties items (i.e. if I could go back in time and rob 'Granny Takes a Trip' and 'I Was Lord Kitchener's Valet', this is what I would steal...)  

I again curse my way-too-late birth because I feel like we would have made really beautiful babies. And I mean that seriously.   

Title: from "Love" (I believe it's from Robin Hood... yeah, go ahead, judge away)

welcome to my life, tattoo, we've a long time together, me and you, i expect i'll regret you, but the skin graft man won't get you

I got a tattoo last night. Well, to be honest, I got a temporary tattoo last night (I know, I'm such a badass). It's from this really fab kit of temporary tattoos by Betsey Johnson. Done in the same vein as the Chanel Les Trompe L'Oeil 'skin art', the BJ tats can be combined to look like jewelry on the skin.
I decided on a green and pink serpent on my forearm. And apart from the occasional Death Eater allusion, no one was too surprised by my recent addition. I choose to believe it's because people assume I'm daring enough to get a tattoo, not that it was so clearly evident a temp.
My foray into the temporary got me thinking about real body art. I used to have an obsession with tattoos and would plan which one I would get the moment I turned eighteen. I never wanted a monstrously big one - always just a tiny thing that I could appreciate but not advertise to the world. In seventh grade, I wanted a star of my wrist (très Gisele). At fifteen, I wanted a small word or French phrase. By seventeen, I was settled on the idea of getting a small swallow on either my wrist or side of my forearm.
When I actually turned eighteen, I reneighed on my promise. Suddenly, getting a tattoo was something I desperately wanted to avoid. When friends would ask what I thought of tattoos, I would always dismiss them - saying that I would never be able to become First Lady if I had a tat.
But the truth of the matter is a little different. While even the baddest bad gals of retro Hollywood never got tattoos (you'd never see Lana Turner with a tramp stamp), the stigma behind tattoos has definitely changed in the last few decades. Now it's hip - even commonplace - for people to have tattoos. What made me reconsider getting inked was the very nature of tattoos themselves - they are forever. I hated the permanency of it; I'm probably the worst type of person to even consider getting a tattoo - I hate change of any sort, but I'm also extremely noncommittal. Getting inked, even with something smaller than a dime, seemed too revolutionary for me.
I recently read an interview with Olivia Kim, one of the head gals of Opening Ceremony, on Into the Gloss. In addition to her enviable job and lustworthy wardrobe, she had a slew of really cool tattoos. Little birds, hearts, bows, boats, sea ships, and cupcakes adorn her hands. I really loved her quote about tattoos: "I love the idea that it really marks where you are in your life at that time. I think people are scared of that permanence but I feel like, it's ok, you can always move on, you can cover it, you can take it off if you don't like it. I remember everything about each one." I credit Kim with my recent (i.e. last night when I couldn't fall asleep and this afternoon when my friend and I were bored and start googling 'tiny tattoos') change in feelings towards tattoos. The permanency may very well be an attractive aspect, and I just misunderstood. Tattoos are like souvenirs of yourself from a particular moment in time.
Maybe I will reconsider my personal stance on the tattoo. Though, with my parents possibly reading this, maybe I won't.

Gisele Bundchen

Angelina Jolie and her many tattoos

Amy Winehouse

Evan Rachel Wood

Kate Moss has several tattoos: an anchor on her right arm, a 'P' on her hip, a star on her ankle, and a small heart on her hand

Lindsay Lohan has many tattoos: a star on her wrist, "Shhh..." on her index finger, 'La bella vita' on her lower back, "Breathe" done in white ink

Marianne Faithfull has a swallow tattooed on her hand

Megan Fox

I love the wings that Nicole Richie has on her back

Sienna Miller has stars on her shoulder and a swallow on her inner wrist

Leighton Meester

Title: from "Tattoo" (The Who)

and they say, she's so lucky

I started sneaking issues of Lucky Magazine when I was in the eighth grade. The library at my school had subscriptions to every magazine under the sun and I remember my friends and I spending our precious study hall hours pouring over the latest Seventeens, Elles, and Teen Peoples. My monthly of choice was Lucky. A shopping-and-style-centric magazine was perfect for the shopaholic young pubescent I was (and still am). Like a kid who steals cigarettes from his father's packs of Marlboros, I felt sneaky reading a magazine that I considered so mature and sophisticated. Though I could never realistically afford anything in the magazine based on my $40-a-month allowance, I used every last one of those stickers to mark every gorgeous cocktail dress (an essential for a fourteen-year-old) and all the obscenely priced shoes I would never be able to walk in.
At sixteen, I got my own subscription to Lucky. Four years later, I'm still as addicted to the magazine as the day I received an issue with my name in the bottom right corner. My attachment to the magazine was made all the more special when, about a month ago, I was contacted by a photography assistant with the possibility of having DRG featured in the magazine. Well, I just about flipped! While the Dolly Rocker Girl blog is such a consuming passion of mine, I still feel like a very small part of the blogging world, and I definite do not hold a candle to all of these other fantastic writers.
I received my issue of the February 2011 magazine in the mail today and squealed at decibels so loud I swear every dog on the block could hear me. On the Editor's Letter page, Brandon Holley, the editrix of the magazine, wrote a piece about the power of the blogosphere. I was beyond honored to see that Dolly Rocker Girl was listed alongside blogs that I am obsessed with. The very fact that I was mentioned on the same page as Anna Dello Russo, whom I am infatuated with, simply sent me to the moon!
This may be a little self-serving, but I hope anyone out there who reads this post can go to their local newsstand and pick up a copy. Though, unfortunately for those who live in my area, my mother may have cleared out magazine stands of the issue. Nicole Richie is on the cover, which is so perfect because I absolutely adore Nicole. I maintain that her being the cover girl this month is way beyond wonderful to simply be a coincidence. The question now is - can Nicole and I become friends now on this basis?

Title: from "Lucky" (Britney Spears) - the anthem of my life circa 2000

well, i heard so much about london, i decided to check it out

I hope everyone is having a fab start to the New Year. I certainly am. I got news today that I was accepted in a study abroad program, which means that by this time next year I will be living in London. It would be nothing revolutionary if I were to tell you that I have always dreamed of living in London. My infatuation with the country is well-known and longstanding. Even as a little girl, I was quite the Anglophile. Around the age I entered kindergarten, I adopted a terrible Cockney accent that would give Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins a run for his money. My peculiar penchant for British slang terms (chips were now ‘crisps,’ my sweaters were ‘jumpers,’ and I wouldn’t dare calling my mother anything other than ‘mum’) could only be explained by one thing: I was destined to live in England.

To me, London is the Beatles performing atop the roof of Apple Corps. It’s Virginia Woolf holing up with the rest of the Bloomsbury group to discuss the curiosities of human behavior of the day. It’s Jean Shrimpton and David Bailey walking arm-in-arm down Carnaby Street, looking in the boutique windows of Mary Quant and Ossie Clark. It’s been the home and hideaway to Keats and Shelley, Shakespeare and the Sex Pistols. The birthplace of some of the most progressive thinkers in politics and poetry, London is filled with history and yet it is always on the brink of something new.

I have travelled to London twice with my family over the past few years, and though the time we spent there was short, it gave me memories that I still revisit regularly. London was the most wonderful paradox for me - I felt simultaneously that I was such a little part of that living, exciting city, and yet there was a part of me that felt like it was a homecoming. In a way, London has always been my home. I'm excited to be given the chance to live there for six months. I have a chance to be like and live like the British babes I so admire. Sure, the times have a-changed since the days when Julie Christie was the 'Darling' of the town, and Pattie Boyd and Jane Asher hung on the arms of their Beatle boys, but there's such magic in that city that I hope will rub off on me. 
I always knew that I was going to study English, and become a writer of some sort. It was never a question. Some people believe they were born to be doctors or lawyers; it was the fate Brahma wrote on their foreheads upon birth. But I always knew I wanted to be a writer. I have journals upon journals filled with my juvenile short stories, poetry, and lyrics, all ranging from the ages six through sixteen. A Dolly Rocker Girl’s literary canon, of sorts. During high school, perhaps there was a part of me that was caught up with the romanticism of it all, imagining myself as a modern-day Sylvia Plath (minus the part about the oven) or Colette (minus the lesbian tendencies). It seemed like such a gorgeous idea to a bored suburban teenager – I would become an artiste, someone who was far more intellectual and worldly than any of my more plebian classmates. But I’ve grown past the mere idea of pursuing English as a career post-university, I want now to make it a reality. Studying in London will be the most wonderful opportunity for me in working towards my goal. To live in a culture where my favorite books were penned and plays performed, I cannot help but hope to soak up some of the creative energy of my surroundings. London offers itself so much to exploration – not just of its surroundings, but also exploration of your own self. All of the dreams I have for my future are intertwined in one way or another, and all of their roads lead back to the one place where I can grow and become who I want to be: London. 

My girls: Pattie Boyd, Jean Shrimpton, Jane Birkin, Marianne Faithfull, Julie Christie, and Twiggy

Title: from "Cocksucker Blues" (The Rolling Stones)

only a week until new year, that's when i'll make a new start

As 2010 is winding down, we are given the chance to reflect on the goals we made for ourselves this past year and evaluate whether or not we made any progress. Even if we've failed or forgotten a lot of our resolutions, we are given the chance to start anew when the stroke of midnight comes on December 31st. With the new year comes renewed promise - we are given 365 days to make some magic happen.
I personally do not want to let 2011 slip by as quickly as 2010 did. I want to do something significant, truly make this the defining year in my life where things began to happen for me. (No pressure or anything, eh?)
Without further ado, here are my list of resolutions for 2011:

1. Say Yes - I've never seen the Jim Carrey movie (despite the dear Zooey Deschanel being in it) but there is some good in saying 'Yes Man' to things that come your way. 
2. Put the sources of things on the blog - work on citing song lyrics, quotes, and pictures as best I can. I know how annoying it is when I stumble across a site that is using my collages (there was a site out there that actually lifted my writing as well - it really irked me) without any credit. 
3. Edit my vocabulary - eliminate curse words, 'like,' and 'uh/umm' from my vernacular. I want to sound like I am living in a glammy 1940s screwball comedy, not a Kevin Smith film.
4. Write in my Moleskine every day - even just a short sentence or two. How can I write my memoirs one day without some reference to when the great events happened in my life? One of my favorite recent rom-coms, Love and Other Disasters, had the most delightful exchange that I think is so marvelously appropriate: "I'm sorry I'm late - I was in the middle of an absolutely gripping book. I couldn't put it down." "What books is that?" "My memoirs, darling. I've decided to publish."   
5. Release my inner free spirit - I want to act more like the girl I know I am on the inside but I'm too afraid to let come out. I want to stop caring what other people think, let go of all my hang-ups regarding judgment, failure, and fear. I want to live life out loud!
6. Find a signature scent - a repeat from last year. I have found some lovely scents (Mûre et Musc by L'Artisan Parfumeur; Kate Moss' original scent; Tom Ford Black Orchid) but I am still on the lookout for one that I cannot bear to part with. 
7. Learn more about classical music and art history - it's been about four years since I took a course on the history of art and music, and I definitely want to revisit some of my favorite artists. 
8. Find a mantra - discover or invent a phrase that I can repeat often and hold close to my soul. 
9. Have confidence - smile more, walk tall and strong, and improve my posture. No more shuffling around looking at the floor!
10. Adopt the Dita Von Teese approach to life - "I advocate glamour. Every day. Every minute." I'm nowhere close to being the beauty that Dita is, nor do I dress myself in the bombshell apparel that she sports (though I've thought about it - I certainly have more of the body for those retro cuts than the bohemian garb I so love but better suits the thin, tall, lanky gals). Still, I think that glamour can be applied to any lifestyle - not just the burlesque-at-heart, but photographers (think Meryl in Out of Africa or Faye Dunaway as Laura Mars), substitute teachers (perhaps a lovely Donna Reed-inspired circle skirt with crinoline and cherry red lips), and even university students like me (Ali MacGraw in Love Story maybe). 
11. Be better to my body - your body is your temple, so they say and I need to treat mine a little better. As important as it is to feed the soul, it is equally as important to feed the body with good things that can actually improve the way I feel, the amount of energy I have, and how productive I am (sans caffeine). I want to try cutting out dairy and processed white sugar, as well as exercise more regularly. 
12. Do these random things - brush up on my French speaking skills; take dance lessons; have media black-out days once a month; meet new people; do something I've always been too afraid to do (karaoke, skydiving, etc.); change my hairstyle; drink more water every day; learn the names of flowers; wear nice undergarments daily; practice yoga more regularly; keep a poetry journal; wear scarves, hats, and driving gloves with outfits; learn to walk in my frighteningly tall Jeffrey Campbell Lita's; learn how to do finger waves and other retro hairstyles

And in the spirit of Resolution #2...

Title: from "A Cold, Cold Christmas" (Stephen Colbert) 

i thought it was strange, you said everything changed

The final hours of my teenage life are coming to a close. By the time I wake up in the morning, I will be twenty years old. Ugh, twenty. I can’t even begin to wrap my head around it.

This is the single most depressing event that has happened to me in a long time. To me, birthdays are always similar to New Year’s – they are always hyped up to be something great, but they always just end up making you disappointed. Because as many times as you tell yourself that you don’t care, that it’s just a day like any other, there is a secret part of you – the part that makes you feel butterflies in your stomach when the most-out-of-your-league guy in the universe walks past you, the part that always hopes for an A right before you find out you got a B, the part that makes you cross your fingers and wish to win an award even when you’re pretty sure you weren’t even nominated … basically the part of you that you never want to acknowledge – that part is telling you that this year could be something different.

You are supposed to feel special and recognized on your birthday – it’s your day, after all! The one day out of the entire year that people should lavish attention on you. But that is never truly the case for me.

Getting older has always seemed so depressing and un-celebratory to me. Its one of the few things Bella Swan and I have in common. Except my desire to stay young has nothing to do with wanting to get busy with a member of the undead.

Besides the fact that no exciting privilege comes along with turning the big 2-0, this is such a sad number for me to be at. When I was a precociously OCD little girl, I made goals for myself, I structured my life by the things I wanted to do according to each year of my life. These goals were usually outlandish and nearly impossible, but hey what’s all too new with that? I promised myself that I would become a success by twenty years old. I have no clue why I chose twenty to be the peak of my achievements, but it was probably because I assumed youth ended once entering your twenties. But with the looming arrival of my twentieth year, I don’t feel any different from any other day.

Being twenty is particularly troubling for me because in so many of the biographies that I’ve read, the person has achieved something stellar by the age of nineteen. By nineteen, Rimbaud has already written his greatest masterpieces. Marie Antoinette became the Queen of France. Marianne Faithfull had already gotten married, had a kid, slept with three Rolling Stones, and was shacking up with Mick by the time she was nineteen. Pattie Boyd was a famous model and being lusted after by George freaking Harrison. And I’m pretty sure Lindsay Lohan already had at least one or two breakdowns at nineteen.

Even the less high-profile people that I admire had done something when they were younger than me. Catherine James was living (platonically) with Eric Clapton, helping him cope with his unrequited love for Pattie. Bebe Buell was signed to Ford Models and being wooed by Todd Rundgren (not my cup of tea, but still – it’s the principal of the matter). I, on the other hand, was not crushed on by any musicians, nor was I even asked to move in with any of them to help them do the dishes!

And the time comes closer when I have to give up my title as a nineteen-year-old, I’m forced to ask myself: where am I? Who am I? 

a fringe effect

I know that I've been mulling over this for practically a year (actually, the idea has been in my mind for years but I didn't have a blog to document my horrendous young teenage years), but I think I've decided that I definitely want to get bangs! The decision comes after seeing Kate Moss step out at Bryan Ferry's album launch the other night wit choppy fringe reminiscent of the look she sported in 2007. Seeing Miss Moss sporting this look stirred those familiar feelings in me again that I want - nay, need - fringe. In my mind, once I get that cut, I'll immediately transform into Pattie Boyd and I'll be endlessly alluring to the fellahs.

I think I like this cut even better than the look she sported three (!) years ago, where she had a long bob and rather blunt fringe. Whereas that look appeared uncharacteristically styled and done at times (especially strange for Moss). This look, with the choppy brow-grazing focus cut and the range in lengths of layers - from long past her shoulders to pieces cut right above her cheekbones, is very loose and natural looking and perfect for her decadent-bohemian Anita Pallenberg-esque vibe that she goes with.

Happy Dollyween

Halloween is one of my most favorite times of year - on what other holiday can you abandon who you are for a day and become someone completely different? For a dreamer like me, Halloween is an answer to my prayers. I think about my costume for months, brainstorming ideas and trying to pick out in my mind different pieces of the costume I already have in my wardrobe and which pieces I have an excuse to run out and purchase. For some, Halloween is just an excuse to dress up like a dimestore hooker in a store-bought complete costume set (dignity not included). But what's the fun in wearing polyester undergarments and wobbling around in stilettos for an entire night?
Instead of the typical Halloween fare, I invite you to celebrate 'Dollyween' with me (well, not with me-with me, but as much as can be over the internet). Dollyween is incidentally the same night as Halloween, but instead of dressing up as a 'sexy bumblee' or a 'sexy librarian' or a 'sexy (enter any occupation here)', we will dress up as 'sexy' Hitchcock heroines, cult favorite characters, and various mad men and women.
For the next two weeks, I will post my favorite costume ideas for Dollyween. Please, please, please feel free to post your own costume ideas or send me photos from your favorite Halloween outfits from years past. Any 'sexy' insects need not partake.

nothing from nothing leaves nothing

Thank you to all your dolly girls for your advice during my quarter-life crisis in my previous post. I have a lot to think over in regard to this site - I love blogging and it's such a great outlet for me, but I want to make sure that it's not a one-way street and that y'all can actually have fun reading this as well. There are so many blogs out there that I envy/lust after and I hope to one day become that site for at least one young doll (or dude) who is beginning their journey into retro-dom and has no clue who Marianne Faithfull is and can't tell their Godard from their Truffaut.
For me, while feedback and comments are always nice, what people say isn't what takes the cake for me at the end of the day. I love knowing that there are kids out there just like me that care about this stuff just as much, if not more, than I do. I'm obsessive about things that my real-life friends deem strange (too random to be 'quirky' I suppose), so more often than not I don't tell them about what I'm into at the moment. In fact, none of my real-life friends know that I have a blog. But knowing there are people who emulate Penny Lane, who lust after Anita Pallenberg's jewelry and want to sleep with Serge Gainsbourg and George Harrison as much as I do is really comforting for me, because it lets me know that we are not alone. Maybe all we have to link us to one another is this strange, strange thing called the internet world, but thank God for it! I would be so scared if this were an alternate universe where I didn't have this outlet and I ended up like one of my Sperry's-and-Nike-shorts-wearing former classmates who only listen to rap and think black-and-white movies are terrible based upon some messed-up principle that black-and-white movies are outdated and lame. And the fact that these fantastic bloggers out there have cared enough to click the 'follow' button means a lot to me.
I don't know, but that's just me. Anyways, I'll get back to regular, non-moping, non-pseudo intellectual blogging very soon!

WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME??

Seriously, anyone and everyone out there - what do you want from me? I fear I am reaching a point in my blogging where I am lacking inspiration and have become stale. Unoriginal. Quaintly mediocre. I want to go back to how my posts were at the beginning of this blog - practically overflowing with ideas. But in truth there are only so many times I can write about Pattie Boyd before she files a restraining order against me. My recent trend of the random picture posts, while fun for me (and hopefully fun for you too), doesn't quite jive with the original intent of this blog. And plus, dollyrockergirl has a tumblr now, so I've purged a lot of my photos I was struggling to use on here to that site.
So here I am, making a sad appeal to anyone out there kind enough to give my fledging blog a chance: what would you want to see more of on this site? More Beatles/Pattie/Marianne Faithfull-ish stuff? Random picture posts? How-tos, advice, and the like? I'm up for pretty much anything. Except poetry. Y'all definitely don't want to see any of my pseudo Sylvia Plath stuff.

The unintended hipster

I am not a hipster, nor have I ever claimed to be. Everyone else seems to think I am, just because I love classic rock, black-and-white movies, and avoid wearing clothes from massive chain-stores (those ones that are real dark and pound music out into the mall really scare me). I embrace the fact that I am opposed to the typical. But does this make me a hipster?

Maybe I have it wrong and I don't even properly know what a hipster really is. Apart from what I have gathered from urban dictionary and American Apparel ads, there's a kind of vagueness in that whole world that I can't begin to understand.

But here is what I do know: I don't value 'ironic' eighties fashion or eye glasses as accessories. I look for the whimsical and beautiful, not the ironic and hip. I do buy a lot of things that I think are funny or amusing, but I also on some level think they are beautiful as well. I purchase things that are furry, metallic, plastic, glittery, floaty, studded, insane, bohemian - the things I would wear if I was five years old again. Or a tranny.

My look changes so many times a day, sometimes I can barely keep up. I want to be an impish Parisian in ballerina flats and boatneck shirts, then a tough rock 'n' roller in my leather motorcycle jacket and never-brushed hair, then Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca, but then why not Anita Pallenberg, or Grace Kelly? And then I wind up at the end of the day wishing I was a glamorous as Marie Antoinette.

My head is entirely in the clouds, my heart in my dreams. I wish I could say my look is entirely carefree, but if it was I wouldn't care so much about being labeled a 'hipster'. Maybe I've got it all wrong and I am, in fact, a hipster and I didn't even know it. Are there any hep cats out there with an answer?

keeping an eye on the world going by my window, taking my time

I miss beauty. I miss the glamour of pink lipstick and sparkly eyes. False lashes so heavy that your eyelids droop. I miss wearing gorgeously impractical outfits to the grocery store, parading down the dairy aisle in five inch heels. I miss bubble baths and that first moment after you try a new perfume and you've fallen in love. I miss eating pink frosting off the tops of cupcakes and sipping champagne out of plastic glasses. I miss speaking French with girlfriends and listening to old Rolling Stones LPs in our parents' dens. I miss the glamour that was all around us. Even that suburban glamour that we didn't even recognize, the kind that you can only understand if you live in a cul-de-sac, and only see it when you're thinking back. When we watched our mothers get ready for a night out and breathed in the heavy scent of her vintage Diorissimo.

These are some images that make me long for beauty.

To India, With Love

India is unfathomably beautiful, isn't it? I wish I could wear henna on my hands all of the time - it's the most unique and beautiful (and wearable) art. The luxuriously bright colors, stacks of gold bangles, flowers and stones - I wish we all dress like we lived in the ideal India (or at least 1967, when they all pretended to live in India). I know that this country is stricken with such intense poverty, and I don't want to perpetuate the perfect image that Bollywood films show India to be, but I've seen the loveliness of this country and it's all around.

Despite how beautiful India is, I'm glad to be back blogging.

Take a cinematic trip to India when Eat Pray Love comes out in two weeks. Is anyone else as excited to see the Pretty Woman herself on a worldwide adventure?

look at me, who am i supposed to be? who am i supposed to be?

I return to the blogosphere well-rested and well-shopped after a spontaneous road trip to visit some of America's greatest vintage shops I've always wanted to go to. The excursion freshest in my mind is New Orleans, as it was the last place we visited.

First we went to Lili Vintage Boutique, an adorable store full of pastel prom dresses, silk nightgowns, and feather pillbox hats. I scored a great Armani poet's blouse with puffy sleeves and a high collar for $43, as well as a paisley mu-mu style dress that was probably stolen from Mrs. Roper's closet.

Next we ventured over to Retroactive, probably one of the most overwhelming store I've ever visited. Every inch of the store is covered with clothes, sculptures, and gadgets that you never knew you always wanted. If you ever desired a rhinestone and marabou feather headdress and four watchman devices, but you never knew where to look, I invite you to visit this store. I bought an autographed Debbie Harry-Pat Benatar poster that mashes up their faces, and a gold leopard print sweater.

The morning after I shopped 'till I dropped, we went to Brennan's, a very well-known restaurant famed for its delicious breakfast desserts. While visiting the washroom, I made friends with the attendant, a kind 82-year-old woman who told the restaurant patrons how to ward off negative spirits. As I spoke to her, she turned to another woman in the restroom lounge, and said, "She looks just like Hayley Mills, don't she?"

I've never been likened to this former Disney princess before, but I was intrigued. I've been told I looked like everyone from Jessica Simpson, Katherine Heigl, Linda McCartney, Quinn from Glee, Christie Brinkley ... basically any gal with blonde hair and a toothy smile. The Brennan's lady got me thinking about Ms. Mills and her four-decade career. From her start as Walt Disney's go-to girl during the early 1960's to her iconic portrayal of Miss Bliss (forever changing Saturday morning television), Hayley Mills was one of the first child actors to successfully transform herself into a legitimate grown-up actress. Her inclusion in John E. Green's legendary book Birds of Britain solidified Hayley's role in the Dolly Rocker Girl universe.

Image sources for Lili and Retroactive