Recently I’ve been trying to give the Hip a bit more variety in perspective by bringing on wicked guest-bloggers so I can start to feel less like an illegitimate sham and to spread the love that Painfully Hip has been getting. You all deserve more than my shallow ramblings about how cute I think shit is. So today our guest blogger is the beautiful young Ariana-Lorelei Roberts (aka Gryphon) of the amazing blog Visconti is Me. I’m thrilled that her busy student life still allowed her to show me up so beautifully.

Signing off,
Amber

The great thing about the internet is it renders proximity useless. Once upon a time those who were fashionably inclined, but couldn’t jet to Paris for couture fittings would have to wait weeks, even months after the shows for bastardized versions of their favorite looks to arrive in department stores. An internet later, mall-forsaken hipsters can get their American Apparel bodysuits and BAPE sweats with the click of a button–not just any hoodie will let on that you’re a rakish link in a contemporary chain of privilege.

Paul Virilio would call this phenomenon “pollution of distances,” and it’s brought about the obsolescence of exclusivity too. So that super-special Alexander McQueen tube dress I ordered three months ago in emerald silk can be purchased for 15% off at Aloharag.com… by some douchebag in the Dakotas. That makes me sad because whenever I decide to buy a designer dress, I have to engage in an artful power struggle with some snooty vendeuse first. Disparaging remarks are exchanged. I submit to the shopgirl’s scrutiny as she weighs the potential impact of my pigmentation on her employer’s rep. By contrast, the internet turns away no one. Beautiful clothing, even clothing that doesn’t suit you, can be purchased quickly and anonymously. Technology bends and exploits long-standing social laws it cannot break; weeding out undesirables, sadly, remains a prerogative of person-to-person business.

Nowadays the word “rare” is a relative term. When the news of Ossie Clark’s relaunch broke, I feared I would never find the orange crepe Celia Birtwell-print dress Berry Berenson wore in Marrakesh. Thankfully, Cameron Silver found it for me. Simply logging onto his blog, which singlehandedly justifies the existence of blogs, ended my search in a convenient and expedient manner- and brought to my attention a killer bejeweled Helen Rose gown. Can you say disco Gryphon? Maybe there is something to this internet, after all.

I can’t say the internet has changed my style at all– why fix something that ain’t broke?– but it has made me fatter and lazier. With people like Cameron plucking quality couture from vintage purgatory (in much the same way one wrests hairs from an eyebrow), I no longer burn calories running laps around thrift store clothing racks. I can wake up and shop and blog without having to fix my hair or put on lipstick. In fact, as I write I’m wearing earmuffs and a poncho. I imagine the internet will be especially handy during those awkward years when I’m too old to wear Jessie Lecomte, though not quite old enough to be sporting St. John. That’s the point when you have to ask yourself, just how in touch do I want to be with the transient fashion scene? You don’t want to be the saggy chick hanging out at Goat. You don’t want to be that girl. Maybe it’s better to just go online and look at JCReport.com or something like that to find out what’s cool. Just prowl the Internet like a child molester so you can find out what the new trends are.

That being said, class is letting out at the ol’ liberal arts college and I have to go push some philosophy majors down the stairs. Bye-bye my pretty angels, and remember: The next time you think your dreams will never come true, you could be right!

–Gryphon

The jessica simpson shoes are second only to nine west shoes in fashion women’s shoes. The diesel shoes are more into the popular sports line.