the curious musings of debutante icons

Social Suicide Earns The Death Penalty

nikki awesome — Sun, 08 Jan 2012 13:27:25 +0000

At least 70% of being an artist of any description is absorbing everything around you, so that when you produce something (and hopefully a ‘relevant something’) it will be a creative mishmash of pop- and social- and controversi- and IWasDrunk-cultures with at least some degree of depth, and not just some “MEH”, paint-by-numbers, Lego house reproduction of the successful art you’ve seen or heard before.

So, if you follow the subtext, this semi-explains my absence from blogging – I’ve been observing-sans-reporting and percolating so as to slam dunk some sounds all over you for 2012. Yes, I know you’re all fed up with hearing this over and over and over and over (like a monkey with a miniature cymbal), but obviously when one creates something new and exciting, it’s far more new and exciting than the last creation, and therefore all the previously-deemed-appropriate hourly agonizations resulting in a final product five minutes ago are rendered immediately obsolete.

It also takes a while to extrapolate high-energy joyful disappointment (or ‘disco music for cutters’, if you will) and package it appropriately in a manner that doesn’t reek of self-indulgent musical masturbation, or that if it does at least it’s intentional. (Unintentional self-indulgent musical masturbation = Going to the acoustic show of a girlfriend’s boyfriend only to be ‘shushed’ as he waxes poetic about granola and how hard it is being a white twentysomething with a goatee. And she’s all ‘Isn’t he so soulful? His lyrics are like, so deep.’ while he’s all ‘pot makes me think about….the universe, man‘. Fucking hippies.)

Anyhow, did you really think I would abandon you? It’s been four years of madness, audience – one would think you’d have gotten the whole ‘she likes to be listened to, whatever the random misdirected discourse-for-one is’ thing by now. I shan’t be leaving anytime soon (barring total death or any other romantically tragic complications) so stay tuned, and if you’re really that desperate, (PLUG PLUG PLUG) you should start following me on Twitter already, where you get the bonus realtime NikkiAwesome bonus, and you won’t have to bitch so much in real life, ’cause I’ll be all over that for you. You can spend your time saying “omg yeah totally” while going about your day-to-day as a positive and happy person. Perhaps small woodland creatures will flock to your new positive outlook in charming, Disneylike fashion. Really, I should be charging for this, is what I’m getting at.

So, to summarize the above: Yes, I was gone, but I was brain-baking some wicked treats for you and they’re piping hot and you’ll be all ‘thanks for that’, so chill with the complainy comments already! We will soon be once again deconstructing hideous attempts at ‘fashion’, enraging conservatives, inappropriately encountering the rat race in far too many daylight sequins, and taunting pot-smoking, hackysack-playing hippies (but you can’t get wifi on a didgeridoo though, so they’ll never see it, without your help in spreading the message) .

Today’s topic is IN 2012, WHAT SOCIAL INAPPROPRIATENESS SHOULD BE PUNISHABLE BY DEATH?

Now, I realize that this is a controversial topic, particularly as everyone all over the internerd is getting all ‘uppity politically correct tsk-tsker’ after a few blogs have come out to say ‘THIS is why you shouldn’t do this or say that”. I don’t actually have that much of an issue with attempting to be a bit more sensitive with the way one speaks/writes so as not to piss everyone off and scandalize the anonymous millions with ‘um wow, you’re actually totally racist/sexist/whateverist’. HOWEVER – that being said, I’m more than a bit disappointed that rather than open a dialogue to debate evolving ‘socially OK’ language and the WHY’s behind the move toward one thing and away from another, more often than not the ‘offender’ is bullied into submission and a defensive position, afraid of appearing as though they ARE racist/sexist/whatever (even though they probably are) and not really ‘getting’ the reasons behind it. This just leads to closet discrimination, people. Rather than chastise someone into aligning with your point-of-view (because that always works, right), try explaining. And explaining again. Or hit them with a chair. But fuck off with the tsk-tsking and judgement, as it makes thou no better!

So, back to my topic.

SOCIALLY INAPPROPRIATE ACTIVITIES TO BE HERETOFORE PUNISHABLE BY DEATH

Rerecording Motown classics *badly and selling them on iTunes for the same price as the original (limbs should be removed prior to public disemboweling to the sweet sounds of the original recording of Stop! In The Name Of Love)

Riding a fucking unicycle. Really? Was the Penny Farthing rental agency all out of appropriately douchebaggy bikes? Are you for serious? You’re so ‘zany’.

Body glitter on part-time substitute teachers bussing in from the suburbs to linger for happy hour in the financial district and hope for the apparition of a husband. Just get a third cat and dress it up like a baby already!

The whole ‘lets do the girlfriend/boyfriend experience’ thing and then DISAPPEARING – when you could probably just be honest/not totally cowardly and say ‘im not really feeling it’, rather than letting the other person deal with the #HUHWHAT of figuring out why you picked them to be a complete cock to.

The selling or purchasing of items that are a total ‘FUCK OFF’. I was told that in Camden, there is a stall that sells pre-crookeded top hats. While it suffices to say that Camden is hideous and vile and THAT EXPLAINS THAT, #Seriously!? Are you the goddamn Artful Dodger or something? Fashion JAIL.

I HEART WHATEVER CITY shirts – when wearing them in the city you’re claiming to love. I’m just not feeling it. Maybe not DEATH, but certain maiming. Unless there’s sequinage involved. Then immediate death, obviously.

This blog entry is getting a little ‘too wordy’, already. So Imma leave it here and I’m happy to recieve your submissions, which I will take to parliament and everyone will applaud when I deliver them on a broadcast with the Queen and she’s all ‘here’s your OBE and such’ and I become a ‘Lady’ and there’s a montage of me doing country-house things for offensively wealthy people and having staff and whatever. Fade. Credits.

LOVE!

Let’s Demo This Bitch.

nikki awesome — Sat, 19 Nov 2011 01:47:21 +0000

I’ve been absent, and you’ve been lonely. Face it. We all know it’s true. But SHHHHHH let’s none of us acknowledge it. It’s better this way.

I’ve been making noise in my bedroom that i’d like to share with you. Lets kiss and make up already.

Find the demos up (one day at a time) on my Soundcloud account. I’ll post the set once it’s all up.

Frosted Like A Boss.

nikki awesome — Mon, 10 Oct 2011 23:04:02 +0000

Nikki Awesome For Cake Follies

What’s more fun than eating cupcakes? Wearing them, obviously. Headed to West London to theeee George Bone’s Tattoo parlour which was kind of gothey/tattooey paradise full of skulls and Jesus paraphernalia. George totally looks like a more lifelike and realistic version of Johnny Rotten, totally dope dude who let me wander pantsless in his establishment while he colored in a massive python all over some man. Rather thrilling.

Me + Cake Follies creative genius Miss Follies showed up, inciting loads of stare-achtung! from passers-by, including causing a small child on a scooter to collide with a telephone pole. The day was clearly on an upswing from the woozy haze of insomnia-hangover it started out as, and Bitchface Awesome rocked cupcake after cupcake in not-so-rapid succession. Delectable!

Check the pics, and hit up Cake Follies on FB. Get Frosted!

Click to view slideshow.

Sunshine, Lollipops, Rainbows, Taxidermy.

nikki awesome — Sun, 09 Oct 2011 17:05:11 +0000

Nikki Awesome Clonazepam Eyes

Busy busy busy for the past little while, shedding skin and bursting into flames, phoenix-style, for the 52nd coming.

It’s been a ludicrous few weeks, peppered with insanity and et ceteras, parties, dress-up, moving, beautifying, winning and taking the cash prizes, then quitting while still ahead. Satisfying dot com.

I have a few projects on the go at the minute, which is why you’ve been lacking my love of late, but I promise to nerd it up for you again like days of yesteryear. Choons being expunged from my soul and vomited into about-to-be-lost hard drives across the globe, several screenplays taking sweet sweet time traveling to their final destination; under the noses of Hollywood fatcats and other suitably suitable individuals. Photoshoots actually happening, which I know many of you have been missing. Recently I have been working recently with London Cakemaster Cake Follies, who has developed some intensely delicious vintage-inspired cupcakes which will be featured very shortly all over the everywhere. Will have pics up soon, honeys!

Have been enjoying the return of my BFF/partner in drame, insomnia. Although the non-sleeping is awesomely frustrating, it does make for an altered hyperreality I do occasionally enjoy, in which absolutely everything is massively hilarious and unimportant. Though if you read my twitter/fanpages you’ll know one of my waking night-terrors is to have Clonazepam Eyes in a photoshoot. (Although a horrifying concept, developing true Clonazepam Eyes would likely make me the ideal photographic companion for Jonathan Rhys Meyers, who suffers from the opposite affliction, Cocaine Eyes. We could cancel each other’s cray-cray out. By doing sexytimes.) Anyway, We (le Royal We, N’est-ce pas) managed to struggle through it with the help of a billion RedBulls and, as far as I know, the Clozanepam Eyes stayed home. (Please burn all pictures and videos of actual life, however, where they are sure to run rampantly through my social affairs like Tyler Durden contact lenses.)

The only other detriment to normalness is the super-weird dreams (typically kept at bay by sleeping with baby bottles of Veuve), which have resurfaced and developed priority access to the front of the line in my non-sleeping brainium. Latest #WTFs include being followed by a camera crew as if on a reality show, but the camera lenses are tucked into taxidermied wolves’ heads. Also dreamt a hyper-realistic and hostile conversation in which I announced my quitting being vegetarian, and promptly tucked into a raw chicken breast. Exceptionally uncomfortable, particularly as I have been a vegetarian for 900 years. If anyone of you happens to be a terribly clever Freudian analyst, do make yourself known. I will pay your fees in all kinds of crazy. You’ll make a mill writing about me in Awkward Psychology Weekly. Think about it. Fame dot com.

Annnnnyway. A demain, mes cheries.

*evaporation*

John Steinberg, As I Knew Him.

nikki awesome — Fri, 02 Sep 2011 08:19:48 +0000

I first met John Steinberg in the autumn of1999, when I was a posh punk ex-raver with a mowhawk and a Chanel scarf tied to obstruct my barely-there velcro corset. I was a high school dropout who had had the good fortune to find myself in the Toronto fashion-show circut, working with some of Canada’s most well-known backstage arists.

Although his reputation had preceded him, and I certainly knew him from his enormous media backlog, I was stunned to encounter this hilarious, down-to-earth, fabulous personality. In my experience, prior to that, most successful and talented creatives had tended to be reclusive or arrogant, and always reluctant to pass on the tricks that served them well. Ever the eager beaver, I sat in the front row while John presented a class full of misfits and droputs with slides of Cleopatra, photos of African headdresses and Victorian silhouettes, and finished by creating, in practically no time, an elaborate Marie Antionette-type hairstyle on a live model. It was nothing out of the ordinary for John, as his love of theatrics and costume were as deeply ingrained in him as his love of teaching and learning.

As I followed a twisting, turning, emotionally trying career path, his salon on King Street was like a piping hot apple pie in a cartoon window, luring me towards it. I finally got up the courage to apply with him, and though I didn’t know it then, he was in fine (typically hilarious) form as he pretended not to know anything about my interview, but watched carefully as I coloured and cut models’ hair in front of him. As he flicked through my portfolio I was aghast thinking that someone as talented and well-known as John Steinberg was flipping casually through the (admittedly) lesser-quality shots I had worked so hard to produce. Improbably, I got the job, and was working with him by the end of the week.

John claimed to ‘employ the unemployable’, which he always said cheekily, resigned to it happily, and the Associates I worked with, for the most part, played the part of employable unemployables to the best of our abilities. Although it was constantly busy and at times, frustrating, John was always ready with a terrible, terrible joke, often at his own expense (and sometimes at yours), and always up for dress-up, arriving to work sometimes in a velvet smoking jacket and opera scarf, and sometimes in pyjama pants. Halloween was a major occassion, and if you really wanted to disappoint him, you didn’t dress up at all. Day to day, I sported a black vinyl dominatrix butcher’s apron he’d gotten me as a present – strictly because he knew me so well. We would laugh daily at the stupidest things, talk sex, politics, heartbreak and religion – all of the things they teach you never to talk about in a hair salon, and attend the legendary John Steinberg and Associates art openings in salon once a month. It was a fantastic time of my life that I miss regularly and would not have left had I not been at the crossroads of ‘do I go and try to make something happen with my music career or not?’

John was the most caring employer, the most genuine person, the most humble – truly humble – individual, though being a typical Leo he often played that part down, and I don’t imagine too many people have seen him truly blush – barring those of us present at Stephen’s summer Christmas party the year we all found out quite a lot about each other during a particularly truthful and daring truth or dare game! He was also incredibly generous, sharing everything he could with his staff and friends. Whether it was Mexican Christmas or simply providing time and money towards educational pursuits, musical careers or being a shoulder to cry on and a hand to slap your ass, John lived to give strength, support, and a creative and mildly insane outlook on life, which brought him many friends and admirers in his professional and personal life – which let’s face it, were seriously intertwined, as he could not resist lending his hair-expertise to those in critical need, nor could he help being a truly amazing friend to those he encountered professionally - if they didn’t already have the jealous-goggles on. It was not only because of his extrordinary talent, but also because of his hilarious and humble personality that John was so well known and well respected, and regardless of his workload, always worked with care and diligence to create beauty, used humour to deter criticism and negativity, encouraged emotional and spiritual growth in himself and in others, and would share of his vast experiences freely, always ready to help others in any way he could.

My heart breaks for Hayley and his family, as well as for his extended family and friends, as no one could ever meet John without falling just a little bit in love with him; with the evil little gleam in his eye as he said something particularly hideous/hilarious/hideous, with his sense of humor, sense of occasion, sense of fashion, his unabashed love of beauty, his profound sense of respect even for the most socially awkward and frustrating individuals (including myself), his charity work for Princess Margaret’s, his ability to bring the most random, yet totally fascinating people into a room and have them get along. His jerked tofu, his Mexican toys and treats, his pervy handshake and camp attitude balanced by his sensitivity, his sincerity, his massive amount of knowledge and ability to take the mick out of himself will make him someone I will miss forever and someone who will never be replaced.

You are one of a kind, my friend. And so I say to you…

”So there I was…. Completely surrounded….”

Much Love,

Nikki xx

Angst Dot Com

nikki awesome — Tue, 19 Jul 2011 20:59:43 +0000

It’s been ever so long since I’d last written, but clearly I have been busy with all sorts (as usual). Don’t worry, you can now expect a return to your regularly schedules rants and semi-semifrequently updated je ne sais quois and whatnot.

We’ll start with a brief foray into my Teen_Dream (total hotmail spam porn handle or what!?), a tiny sub-spectrum of music I’ve been writing while feeling ever so moody (oh that dark, dark business one has to love). It’s semi emotronic (what does that even mean? I class it as moody/introspective with drum machines and synth. Not happy with that? Send an SASE plus 49.00 GBP for a long-winded version of SUCK IT), kind of a bit more soundtracky and certainly vocal/lyrics driven (which makes all the sense in the world as I have written and produced 100% of it myself and simply would ne’er dream of claiming clever instrumentalness/production values).

I’ve been writing mostly at my kitchen table (in an ever-so fancy carved Regency style, silk-covered, mahogany armchair – overlooking the hustle/bustle of central London in its ever-dour grey attire. Are you there with me?!) for the past year or so and I know most of my fans/critics don’t know that I do in fact actually write not only my own lyrics but often my own music as well. typically sharing it only with close friends.

Well, internet, get ready to feel special. We’re on close-friend level now. Yeah I know. Save the hugs for later when it’s not so embarrassing. Now it’s yours for the listening.

Basically I was looking for an outlet for all of my failed-at-art-school angst and a forum for my need to create aural montages of dying vampires, wax fruit melting in still life, busy highways, and the time-lapsed self-portraits of Dorian Gray. I hope it does the trick. By the way, you could always run it with the ending of Soylent Green. That works for me too.

Enjoy, and no cutting!

Love.

The Totally Awesome Guide To Touring London (For Dicks)

nikki awesome — Fri, 20 May 2011 12:11:33 +0000

I’ve been semi-internet-absent for the past few weeks – mostly as all of my friends are finding their way towards the UK for the great summer migration… pre-high-season and what-have-you. Holy Shit, I’ve gone hyphen-crazy.

Basically I have now turned into one of those asshole residents of a big city that has gotten over the “Omg I Can See Big Ben”-ness of it all and have turned into a massive bitchface (the only face to travel with) when commuting around the city. I don’t mean to be so mean. But it happens. Maybe you’re actually not aware of you being a big dumb touristy douche (it happens) because nobody’s toldyou. So. Here’s a handy hint-sheet you can print out and tuck into your foldable London Underground map to diffuse my ire.

When traveling on an escalator, WALK LEFT, STAND RIGHT will make you a lot more popular with the 8,000 commuters behind you who actually could give a shit about the 55 posters for ‘LEND ME A TENOR’ and ‘GREASE’. MOVE OUT OF THE WAY!
When the escalator reaches its final destination, contrary to popular belief, this is NOT the best time to stop and stare blankly at the numerous wondrous things in front of you. Yes, there is a big long hallway, and I’m sure it’s hard to decide which way to go IN THE ONE DIRECTION EVERYONE IS WALKING, but seeing as moonwalking back DOWN the UP escalator is kinda dicey, maybe just pull over to the side while you figure out the difference between a 20p piece and a 5p to get that can of Tango you can’t get in the States.
Arrived at the top of the stairs to street level at Oxford Circus? RE-READ RULE 2.
You can’t seriously expect everyone in London to stop because you want a goddamn picture with Big Ben in the background, so don’t get all tongue clicky and teeth-kissy about it when people need to get by.
Ask directions. Totally OK. However, don’t ask for directions, become overwhelmed, get taken over to a map where you can be shown where to go and then get all “oh well *IIIII could look at a MAP”. No, no, you couldn’t.
The “pip-pip cheerio, ‘ave a spot of tea, guv’na?” is about as funny as being constantly asked of you say Aboot, or for my American friends “YALL have a NAHCE DAYYYYYY” or whatever. If you want to complain about how the French are dicks that look at you funny and the British presume you are a cunt then keep on truckin’ with that old ass hilarity.
Your friends that live in London love it when you visit, but WHY THE FUCK do I want to go to goddamn TopShop in Oxford Circus in rush hour so you can debate for like 3 hours on a pair of shitty overpriced sunglasses that were coolhunted by 50-year-olds using their tween daughter’s BFF’s like culture-vultures? Barforama.
The I heart London shirt with the sparkles on it? yeah, You’re gonna get mugged.
Everything you want to buy in the form of Mini Big Bens, baby double decker buses et cetera are like 95 times cheaper off the main roads. just hold it down till you get to district 2, ok? and do you REALLY wanna be walking around the Tower of London carrying all that shit?
Reread this list. Memorize it. THEN book your overpriced flight.

Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah I’m a dick. So what. Newsflash.

Many of you asked me what I did for the Royal Wedding, presuming that I would, of course, be ziplining onto the “kiss balcony” just in time to kick that crazy little girl out of the way and usurp her place of “this is so borrrrring” glory. (ps she was called a bridesmaid, is it just me or do you picture her playing the ‘zany best friend’ in every Wedding-themed RomCom until the of time?) I digress. Massively. I stayed in with a delectable hangover and watched like 100 hours of it on the telly – which saved me from tourist commute hellishness… Although I love dressing up in costume, there’s something about being in the vicinity of Union Jacked-up Baby Boomers, wasted on 15-minutes-of-fame and the constant lurking threat that they may well be photographed looking like a complete knob, with me, looking irate/sheepish/murderous in the background. So I blamed the terror threat and wrote non-wedding-related songs instead. (I know right? I expected better of myself.)

LOOOOVE YOUUUUUU

Royal Wedding-Gate

nikki awesome — Fri, 29 Apr 2011 12:04:33 +0000

Officially blocked on Twitter (yet again) but here’s my live-tweeting from before I was cut off.

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nikki awesome

@hrhnikkiawesome London, UK

singer-snogwriter. intentional international typoist. bio-curious? accept me as your sovereign.http://myspace.com/theroyalsocietyx

http://nikkiawesome.com

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The choirboys totally have army-issue glasses. Bless, NHS.#royalwedding