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Sunday, February 28, 2010

The Body As A Billboard

Anyone who has watched professional sports can always see someone trying to make a buck through air time. You see brands flash by in a cacophony of color at events and there's always someone who is making the fashion statement of the day.

Usually it's the one with the bigger endorsement or has a lot of personality.

If I had to choose, I'd be in the latter category. And unless Nike starts to endorse people who rank top, from the bottom up, then I'll be in the "Personality" category for a while. 

What I noticed in the Ironman series is that people are all about their uniforms, their compression gear (2XU made a killing with their compression calf guards) and their tattoos. And why the hell not? Here are people who train to one day be able to swim 2.3 miles, bike 111 miles and run a full marathon at 26 miles. All in one day.

I'm just surprised that it's only a tattoo that they want, after all that. 

I long ago decided that I would not go the tattoo route, as much as I'd like to. I am blood type O+, making me a universal doner. I would much rather keep my blood clean in the likelihood that someone I know would need a length of colon or something.

My alternative then? I found just the perfect thing off of Chanel's Spring-Summer 2010 show: Les Trompe-L'oeil de Chanel. Chanel Body Art.

It's a series of temporary tattoos of iconic pieces of Chanel design and jewelry, everything from cherry blossom branches to the double "C" logo.   

Yes, I would be looney enough to wear that in a triathlon. The only place I could imagine wearing it, though, would be on the wrist. On the legs, like these models, though nice, can never be seen under the tri shorts one would wear. 


Chanel Body Art on one wrist, my Polar on the other! 

Personally, I've always been a fan of doing the most peculiar and if I had the money sitting around somewhere, I might consider the Oakley Medusa, a scary kind of bondage cap plus goggles. The dreds on that plus my already long hair and I think we've got ourselves the winner of this year's Miss Congeniality Contest. 



I think I need a pair of leather opera gloves, like the model. 

That, paired with the Cervelo Test Team jersey and I think we have the best dressed person at any triathlon!

 
I wonder if you can get the dreds on the Medusa through the holes in a bike helmet...




Friday, February 26, 2010

The Brand Cat

I am a discerning brand cat.

'Brand cat?' you may ask. 'What on God's green earth is that?'

I was hanging out with Amy one day, in her apartment in downtown Mexico City. She had two cats at the time, Sarai and Tita. Sarai was probably the most intelligent cat I've ever come across in my life. With her front paw, she would swipe a paw-full of dry cat food and throw it into the water dish, eat her fill and leave the water dish an unappetizing murky brown. She only ate certain foods and was enamored with wet cat food but only a certain kind. If it wasn't Whiskas, she wouldn't eat it. Hence "Brand Cat" was born.

I'm a brand cat as well, but I have to admit, I'm picky. I like certain brands but more than anything, they have to adhere to my aesthetic and my sense of the product's image. For instance, I would not buy Prada running shoes, as much as I like their sunglasses and purses, for the same reason I would not buy a Nike cocktail dress (if they did make them), for as street sassy as their tops may be.

Go with what you do best.

I do agree with a tasteful combination.

Here's an example:

You've just finished a sprint and you pick up your bag of personal items (where you usually put your lubricant to protect from the salt burn against your skin while you swim, your protein bars, your hydration, etc...). Cancun (where I presently live) is usually not cold enough to pack a long-sleeved jacket. Get a baggy sleeveless t-shirt or a tank top to throw on. Sleeveless because your arms and legs will still have your bib numbers on them and you don't want to dirty your clothes too much. Get a nice sarong or a wrap to complement your shirt and tie it on like a mini skirt. Or use a thick canvas belt instead. Put on your cap or a nice bandana together with your shades and you’re good to go to the awards ceremony.

Whatever you decide on, the key points are:
  1. Something made out of cotton or some easily washable material.
  2. Baggy. Putting on something form-fitting after an athletic event where your body is swollen is probably not the most appropriate.
  3. Sunglasses.
Years ago, I remember going back home to San Francisco after years of not going and was surprised to see young high schooler Asian girls, plain-looking and unkempt. Baggy clothing and thick, bulky jackets. I was saddened, to tell the truth. I knew that deep down, those girls had something attractive but they blocked it all off. I should know; I was one of them. 

This is not about buying just a brand. You can buy anything you like. I just believe that every woman has something within her that is worth seeing but only if she herself wants to see it too. 

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Leather Pants vs. Tri Wetsuit


On a whim, I just bought a triathlon wetsuit, dirt cheap, off of eBay.

I live in Cancun so the likelihood of me using a wetsuit here would be unlikely. But seeing as that triathlons are a part of my life now, I can see myself doing one in a colder city. 

Hence, a very good purchase. 

Like a little kid on Christmas Day, I took my box into my room and proceed to put out the suit. 

The box is literally a pizza box with the very cool logo of 2XU (my wetsuit's manufacturer) on the front. I was skeptical that the suit would fit in the box and dreaded that there was no way I could have bought a $300 USD suit for $50 and worried that the box would arrive with only a photo of my wetsuit, nothing more. 

There was a photo on my invoice as well as the product. I pulled it out and looked at it.

"My," I thought. "It's rather long."

There's nothing to it, I thought. I stood and pushed my left foot through the pant sleeve. 

The next 20 minutes can only be described as me being stupidly tortured. As I pulled my leg through, I realized that wetsuits do not function like normal pants. They do not slide up and they got stuck...around my calf. A new one for me seeing as that I have a rather large ass and in my case, the pants that do not fit me normally do not make it past my thighs and hips and not my calves! I carefully pulled at the neoprene, hoping that I don't tear them on the first day of having them. I tugged, pulled, smoothed and did it all over again. 

By now, I felt hot and I did not know if it was from the actual heat of the evening or if this tugging and pulling business was making me break out into a sweat. All the while, trying to beat down the encroaching thought that I did not know how to put on a wetsuit.

Never in my life had I had such problems trying to put on an article of clothing. 

By the time I got it to my waist, the pant legs were no where near well fitted and my crotch reached as far as three inches away from it was supposed to be. Gingerly, I pulled the suit front up to me and slid my arms through. 

I was thankful that I didn't buy a sleeved version. 

After more pulling and tugging, I was able to pull the zipper up my back. I felt like I had just run a 400 meter sprint, there was so much exertion involved.

I stepped in front of the mirror. My crotch was still not aligned with my torso, giving me a bagginess that was reminiscent of my diaper days. My ankles and left knee were still a little bunched up and tight from just the sheer impossibility of pulling the suit further up my leg. 

From the waist up, however, I didn't look too bad. 

I looked almost badass.

Pulling off the suit was nearly as hard as getting it on. I took care not to fall on my head as I pulled. By the time it was off, my wetsuit was completely drenched in sweat. 

I'm definitely going to need more practice. 

Maybe I'll go out and buy something easier to practice with, like patent leather pants.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

The Roots

I am a triathlete. Not a very good one but my goal is to become better. Among my many hobbies and interests, I love fashion.

I can blame my father, who used to be a travel agent. Long ago, when the word "Milano" just meant another trip to Italy, I remember my father at the tailor's, looking for a dress suit to wear and getting fitted into one, opting to getting them made instead of buying them in the States. American men were bigger in frame next to my father's thin, sinewy body type. American clothes never fit him.

I read this now and think how arrogant this sounds. How let-me-take-the-jet-for-a-Paris-shopping-spree-weekend it sounds.

But it wasn't.

I just saw it all as that trip to Europe to run around museums and eat good food. Little did I know that other kids did not spend their Sundays eating Italian headcheese, German baloney and prosciutto with bread sticks and baguettes, washed down with bottles of Perrier. That I was very much in a world of my own.

Growing up in San Francisco, I wasn't from a well-off family but books were always a part of my life, where fashion was not. My father had strict control of the reins in terms of what his daughter was to wear so it wasn't until I hit college, for the first time out of the house, that my personality was allowed to take on its true form and all my forms of expression followed likewise.

One of which was my personal fashion sense.

I owe much of my fashion awakening to a good friend, Amy. Having done photography as a major in art school was no small feat, seeing as that EVERYONE always tried to one up the other, in terms of the most artistically liberal. In Amy’s case, that meant wearing to class a tight, mermaid-type dress from the 60s, so tight it was difficult to walk, coupled with a pair of very tall platforms and topped (literally) with a wig that was a one-foot tall beehive. I was only always fascinated with hats (direct result of having watched “The Untouchables” as a child) but Amy brought vintage women’s hats into my life.

And where there was a hat, there had to be an outfit. Slowly, the fashionista in me wandered out and I saw that fashion was more than just very expensive clothing. It is dressing yourself in what is most aesthetically pleasing to your particular frame.

In the world of triathlons, most have a very nice looking frame. And to boot, there are clothes to accentuate that.

So the helmet has to match the outfit, which has to match the gloves, which all in the end, have to match the bike itself.


I had found my home and my goal in life: to bring a little spice in variety and show the triathlon community that a pair of Oakley Jawbones would look good with Love & Friendship Mac Nail Lacquer.

I have spoken: hear me roar.