look : femme fatale [the dominatrix]

the dominatrix opens the shades. her clients pay for her services, but she pays for the view.

sip: [tequila sundown]

we usually do tequila when we want to get crunk in the middle of summer [coyote ugly table dancing status]. but february was getting really cold, savera was missing the sri lankan sun and i needed something to give my albino face a flush. we recruited our friends patron and cassis to make the ultimate tequila sundown. a splash of lime for an epic time and  a crush of cranberry will make you merry. tequila will turn you into a dr. seuss status poet.

look : femme fatale [la fille de joie]

her chains jingle to the rhythm of her swaying hips. she is that fracture of light that seeps in at dawn forcing an awakening. the room is enraptured. captive. like moths to a flame.

she reels them in, relishing her hold on them. a skilled huntress, paid to toy with her prey. he surrenders. hypnotized by the pendulum sway of her pearled tassel. she will always be in control.

spot : [paris]

in paris, bread, butter and dessert make up the food pyramid. paris means never having to say you're sorry. it never rains cats and dogs in paris [just petite papillons]. all's fair in love and paris. mahatma ghandi said it best, "you must be the change you want to see in the world...or just eat a shit ton of french macarons."

look : femme fatale [the litigator]

the litigator walks out of the courthouse and sees it. snow. she tries to hail a cab, but she knows it isn't going to happen. she has never been in this part of town at night. a man on the corner whistles at her. she shivers. 

across the street, a door swings open, letting out smoke and smooth jazz. she could use a drink. she walks towards the bar; a man in sunglasses holds open the door. he hands her his pool cue and says, "time to take a leak."

the bartender sidles over with a glass of wine. chardonnay, on the house. the litigator smiles and  hands her the cue. the bartender leans over slowly, dress riding up to show a stack of singles tucked into her tights. she takes a shot. the litigator takes a long sip. 

the patrons spill out into the dark night. the bartender pours one last whiskey and the man with sunglasses leaves with a blonde. the litigator is used to watching. she counts, records, takes notes. but now the table is empty. she re-racks the balls, picks up a cue and breaks. 

look : femme fatale [the hustler]

the hustler walks into the bar and scans the room. typical friday night. a banker, some regulars and a  couple that still thinks they're in love. the bartender gives her a knowing smile and starts on the usual drink: soda with two limes. the hustler tells men that it has two shots of vodka. it makes them think they've got a better chance of winning the game or getting her to go home with them. or both.

the hustler spots her mark. men who wear sunglasses at night are asking for it. he leans against the wall and lights up a cigarette. she points to the no smoking sign and he smiles while he takes a drag. she sits on the pool table, flips her hair and looks back at him. that's it. hooked.

he tells the bartender to get them another round. the hustler slides off the table and grabs her cue. she downs her drink and says, "so, you want to play a game?"

taste : cayenne [hot-pop]

february is party 'round the tv time : the superbowl, the olympics, the golden globes, the grammy's,  house of cards season two marathon...it doesn't matter if you're watching jennifer lawrence pole vaulting onto the stage or a russian figure skater death-glaring her way to a perfect triple salchow [we always thought it was spelled sow-cow...oops], you still need the perfect snack. this popcorn mix is perfect for the girl who is always on a diet, the neighbor who hates anything with the word "health" on the label and the college student who needs something to chew on at all times. spicy, sweet and crunchy, grab yourself a handful of hot-pop.

look : femme fatale [the bartender]

the bartender slips on the dress, that one that always gets tips. she picks up her gloves and slams the door. the lock's still broken. she presses the elevator button once, twice, three times. nervous. he knows that she works this shift. pulling on her gloves, she hits the button again.

the bartender walks into the bar and turns on the lights. last night's mess. she starts with the pool table. a regular told her once that a magic eight ball could grant wishes, but she doesn't believe in magic.

the usual suspects trickle in. pour, shake, mix, repeat. they ask her for more drinks as she watches the door.

the bartender tucks the tips in her thigh highs. all of them except the twenties. she folds those bills into tiny squares and slips them through the side of her dress. safekeeping. the clock strikes three and the room clears out. she doesn't say it, but they know it's last call. then the door swings open. she looks him square in the eye and says, "you want a drink?"

look : femme fatale [nyfw]

we've been hitting fashion week hard. savera crashed the azealia banks' party, perfected the art of persiflage with nimrod kamer [yes, that is his real name], twerked it out in her white faux fur and made it onto a buzzfeed list [looking super blasé at number 22]. i hung out with some rock star spawn at a sunglass hut event, hoarded crab cakes with garance doré, rocked out to cold war kids and sipped on some silver patron at the guess party
the runway at lincoln center got the memo about this month's femme fatale theme, so here's a compilation of the seductive, elusive and uber-femme moments from fall 2014 fashion week. 

fete : [lakshal perera]

when we think wedding photography, we picture puke-worthy pastels, stepford children throwing rose petals and lots of black-and-white hand holding with extra emphasis on the rings [not gollum’s magic ones or olympic-rainbow ones, just the engagement ones]. but when savera met lakshal perera at her cousin’s central park wedding, she fell in lust with his quirky eye and his photographic interpretation of “the greatest day of your life.” he turns cakes and table decorations into little moments of majesty. we just wish he could photograph us every day, and not just on the day of “dun-dun-dun-dun” [wedding march music or jaw’s theme. you decide]...

taste : cayenne [thai chili chocolate]

yes, we'll eat any chocolate: king-sized movie bags, the overpriced llama-imported bars at the whole foods checkout counter, m&ms that took a detour to the floor [5-second rule is real, yo]. but kee's thai chili chocolate actually made us salivate [like, saint bernard slobberfest]... 

spot : [paris]

because of mary-kate and ashley, i thought paris was a city where ten-year-olds legally rode vespas and everybody wore funky hats. in middle school, my french teacher wore a knee-length patchwork suede jacket and a white v-neck henley without a bra, but it was okay because she was french and subtle nipple was très chic... 

the list : [february]

1. look: femme fatale

   2. spot: paris

       3. taste: cayenne

           4. sip: tequila

               5. fete: lakshal perera

                   6. wild card: pda

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

  lakshal perera's wedding photograph  .  cayenne pepper  .  eva green  .  moulin rouge  .  v-j day in times square statue and couple  .  patron lights