Terry Gilliam is a creative genius. He also pulls off head-to-toe denim like no other Python.



At long last, the final set of photos from Europe this summer. We began our stay in Denmark with a club show somewhere in Copenhagen, but had to make a dash the next morning to Jutland and Thisted for a festival. I wish we could have stayed there longer, as it seemed like a truly beautiful, wild stretch of country, but again it was up with the sun (and the most breathtaking sunrise) and another mad drive back to the Copenhagen airport, where everyone said their goodbyes.

Alex and I had decided to stay in Copenhagen at tour's end on our own for an extra three days. Instead of trying to book a budget hotel or stay in a hostel to save money, we found an amazing little studio apartment to rent on visitcopenhagen.com. For the price of a barebones hotel room with a shared bathroom, we had our own little kitchen and bedroom with private bath, and the keys to a beautiful old apartment complex on Sankt Peders Straede, in the Latin Quarter on the edge of the old town Indre By.

For three days we walked and walked, down winding streets, over bridges and through alleyways, in and out of impeccably curated boutiques filled with Acne and Henrik Vibskov, across cobblestone squares and always, always with an ear and an eye out for swiftly approaching bicyclists. We visitied COS where I made a single purchase in the form of a perfect white cotton t-shirt. We took a cheesy canal boat ride and huffed and puffed our way to the top of the Church of Our Saviour, we ate smørrebrød and walked home in the evening past the University to the sound of churchbells. Copenhagen is a beautiful city filled with beautiful people, but it's also mighty expensive for an underemployed American. Three days was just about all our wallets could withstand, but I would happily have stayed three months in our little Danish hideaway on St. Peter's Street.



I'm crazy for everything involved in this vintage Rolling Stone cover: the colors, the clothes, the smile, the Gilda. (Come to think of it, the whole issue looks pretty rad!) And now I'm seriously considering adding it to my already c̶l̶u̶t̶t̶e̶r̶e̶d̶ eclectic walls.




I want to love winter, honest I do. I want to love winter clothes, too. Cashmere, cable knits, angora--these are all things which, in theory, I very much enjoy. So what's wrong with winter clothes? I'll tell you what's wrong: they are too goddamn expensive. I could buy a lifetime supply of denim cutoffs for the price of a single, solitary, well made overcoat.

Take, for example, my newest obsession: Sandro. Everything they make is beautiful and soft and simple with just the right amount of detail (leather piping, sheer lace, a slouchy fit, a bold stripe, and all so mercilessly tasteful.) I've fallen particularly hard for their coats, all of which I would liken to the wardrobe equivalent of a SAD lamp, and not one of which clocks in below the $400 mark. I had to forcibly remove myself from the second floor of Barney's the other night before someone had me committed, hands full of shearling and letting out strange choking sobs of wonderment.