So the highstreet’s telling us it’s AW but we’ve just hit SS last week and don’t think you can fob us off by calling it transitional. It’s not going to anywhere near to AW until the end of Sept.
Having spent the last 5 years working as a buyer I’ve never actually known which season it is as I’ve been wearing SS, watching AW sales and forecasting the following SS. So it’s still summer right?
One night passes-on, another is born, such is the transience of nocturnal life. Unfortunately missed the birth of Caligula – we were knee-deep in HTML(ooo sexy) but it’s always nice to check out a new venue a few weeks in and it didn’t disappoint. The crowd were beautifully turned-out, sophisticated, laid-back and friendly. Chic angular shoulder pads and flirty whispers were exchanged in candle-lit corners.
Holestar is a an artist, performer, DJ and tranny. A woman, with a fanny, dressing up as a man, in drag, who generally doesn’t have a fanny. Confused? Yes I was, enought to scratch off the pan-stick and dig a little deeper.
Graduating with a masters degree in Fine Art from Central St Martins her work can be compared to Cindy Sherman who has used her body to express herself in a series of self-portraits using various media. She blurs the boundaries between Avant Garde and mass entertainment, pop culture and the underground managing to seamlessly entertain contemporary art junkies and trash culture addicts alike .
Just back from filming Ring them Bells at Glastonbury – Britain’s first documentary about about London’s alternative queer scene – we caught up with to probe and poke..
I’m feeling slightly like I’m at seance, am I speaking to Julie or holestar? Holestar here. Julie is the manager.
One word, all too often overlooked – Why? It’s a hell of a cliché but I think I was born with a twisted need to create and perform.
If holestar was filling out a job application what title would they be ticking? Artist.
Can you tell us how holestar has evolved? Holestar is my artist name, BD (before drag). My work at the time was about sexuality and gender and I got the idea after seeing many a tired old drag act and thought, “I can do that”. It was initially a one off art piece but carried on when I met a DJ whilst living in Vienna who wanted me to MC over his sets. From there it took on a life of its own and five years on, I still love it.
I’ve since evolved to singing, acting, performance art, DJing and back to the classic drag tradition of lip synching. I’m still a visual artist and currently making a documentary about The Downlow, the worlds first travelling gay disco.
Unfortunately Man About World and Master Bitch had to go their separate ways at Stag and Dagger last night. Tear, wipe, air-kiss, chaa. 20 venues is too much for a team so a divide and conquer approach was required. Man about World traipsed off with lady in one hand and press passes in the other to mince past the queues Westwoods intact while Master Bitch eschewed the queuing in favor of taking to the streets, can in hand to persue and pester the raggedy band of wristbanded fashion bitches.
So it was the 90s, and your luminous coloured bra poked through the white synthetic pre ripped t shirt and your diamante thong so far up your ass crack you had to waddle and re-adjust constantly. These where the glory days of VPL. It wasn’t a bulging little line that could be seen under you dress. IT was visible panties, and it was socially acceptable. This was feminism in its truest form, wearing the symbol of oppression visibly without shame and with pride. Or was it?
Of course it wasn’t
Its 2009 and I find myself going commando in abject fear of VPL. With Jodhpurs and skin tight fabric leggings (thanks American Apparel for making something that even Olivia Newton John couldn’t wear and look good) being on trend at the moment, why do I have to sacrifice my lady garden’s dignity go bravely wear only girls like Lindsay Lohan dare to tread? Because it’s a given that that tiny little line of your M&S granny knickers poking through is like an exclamation mark on your rear end.
With my Jodhpurs safely done up, it feels strange to be without coverage. The word drafty comes to mind. It’s a strange parallel to think of the lectures my mother gave me when I was 12 regarding my underwear. She reminded me that nice girls didn’t show their Bra or knickers, and that people would consider me a person of the night.
I then informed her that she was old, uncool and certainly not any authority on fashion, and skipped of to listen to Nelly and read Bliss. I remember being so certain that she was so very wrong, what would she know?
However here I am typing this to you minus pants.
Bitching and Junkfood jumped at the invitation to prance and pap at Partie Monster’s 2nd Anniversary Carnival on Friday night at Dublin’s Ri-ra. Bodies and faces drowned in glitter, pearl necklaces a plenty, eyelash junkies OD’ing on face-paint, freaks, fkers, misfits and fashion troubadours – we could barely contain ourselves.
Before twirling off to flash dance we got our hands on a potty – nope no little accidents – this was the cocktail speciality for the night(why wasn’t toilet training this much fun?) We then slid onto the dancefloor to throw a few shapes to the gloriously sleazy tunes of Mexican wrestler masked DJ Marquis D’Alton. Mellow, care-free, funloving and friendly – wankiness was checked in with the furs. Mimi Rouge, organiser, put it so well, Partie Monster is not about posing or anything cliché , but a night which says fuck stereotypes and let’s all just have a laugh. Well the stereotypes were fucked alright and the sartorially spectacular were out for all to see, each new outfit, dancing on our eyes like delicate fingers on a beautiful harp(Enya style) .
