#the bespoke magazine

[thurstongrey]

[the-sartorial-journey]

Pini Parma

[mahoganygold213]

NiNi for V Magazine China

[freeadmission]

Alex in my designs.

One of the amazing things I get to do is work with people I love working with on a regular basis.

Alex and I connected a few years back and have been making magic together ever since,

For this shoot, I used my up-cycled designs and we shot in the studio.

The editorial was featured in Issue 28, Volume 16 of Selin magazine and it’s called Alex in Design.

If you want your own copy you can find it here.

[majormommyissuess]

ID Magazine

[centrally-unplanned]

I was going through some archived scans of 90's otaku magazines, as is my sacred duty, and I stumbled on this ad for a Sega Saturn game I did not know:

The pitch of Roommate (as seen here) is that of a "real time" romance simulation:

What makes it real-time is that the game progresses in sync with the Saturn's internal clock. In that way [main girl] Ryoko is just like a real girl; she has her own daily habits and lives her life accordingly. So if you start the game in the afternoon, you might not be able to meet her because she's at school [...] The purpose is to enjoy living together with Ryoko in real time and communicating with her.

And this is exactly the kind of way-too-convoluted gimmick that sacrifices gameplay functionality on the altar of conceptual novelty based on random technology add-ons present in new-gen consoles of the era that I just love. Obviously the concept of starting a game and having the main girl not be present so you cannot play is completely asinine - but think of the realism!

Between that and the discount-Sadamoto 90's character designs, I wanted to see it for myself; so I spent way, way too long setting up a Sega Saturn emulator. In my experience early CD-ROM-based consoles often require much more bespoke set-ups to get working, in this case custom BIOS files in the emulator firmware directories, and JPN-language ones at that for this game. But I got it to work and oh yeah, this is some early "digital" console era crust:

Playing this game is just painful. The clock of course means that you essentially can't play it at all - looking at YouTube comments on the very few Let's Plays and such that exist, people are reminiscing about how they could never find Ryoko because their schedules didn't align. One person even comments:

This game is for NEETs and shut-ins

Which is a valid demo I guess! But it doesn't really stop there - your house is a "fully realized" 3D environment of bare walls which you navigate with clunky controls. Let me log in and take some screenshots...

Jesus Christ it's 10 pm and you are cooking dinner?! The one time I don't want this ghost popping out of the cracks in the floorboards, I swear...

Okay, got rid of her (She broke a plate -_- you moved in yesterday, girl):

You walk, in real time (step by step) through this pixel museum just...hoping that one of the rooms will contain Ryoko and proc a dialogue event based on the time of day. There is a little more to it than that but that is essentially the gameplay. This would, very obviously, be simply better as a straightforward visual novel.

But you see how that just isn't as cool in 1997, right? This is the era where the fidelity of graphics and the technology for simulation is progressing at a rapid clip, and everyone wants to see the boundaries pushed. Roommate isn't the first "real time simulation" game, but it is the most pure, the one fully committed to the bit. Your house is completely mapped out, the girl has her routine, you walk step by painful step through the rooms because this is "real", you are living it. They even use a live photo for the outside of the house to sell the aesthetic (and also save money):

Ryoko is waiting in the kitchen of that house when you come home from work, putting on an apron, ready to cook dinner. For you.

Assuming you get home at whatever fucking 30 minute window the game decided to gatekeep its gameplay behind! But of course I exaggerate - it wasn't that bad (there are little mechanics you can use to set some schedule times in the game for example), player tolerance for bullshit was way higher then, and you were expected to buy strategy guides for these things. So even though it was panned by critics on release...it was a sleeper hit with a devoted fanbase.

Which means it got a ton of sequels and ports! We don't have to go through them all, though I will share my favorite factoid about the first sequel - "ROOMMATE ~Ryoko in Summer Vacation~" from the wiki:

The character designs are significantly different from the previous game (especially Ryoko's brown hair and large breasts).

Priorities, baby. But some of the ports are interesting because of the changing tech. A version was ported to the PlayStation, which does not have the internal clock a Sega Saturn had. But coincidentally it did have the PocketStation, a handheld GameBoy/Tamagotchi hybrid expansion tool that did have an internal clock and could sync with the game. It also let you track Ryoko's schedule and play mini-games, with some very adorable animations as you can see in this ad for the product that featured Roommate:

This device absolutely reminds me of the Disc Fax system discussed in my Miho Nakayama essay - a very niche product biting off more than it can chew making games overly complex to play but allowing things that would otherwise be impossible (and this one was a good deal more successful at least). Here it allowed Roommate's central gimmick to function - and is super cute, honestly I would buy a standalone tamagotchi version of this game.

The PS1 also couldn't quite handle how the game was built for the Sega Saturn graphics-wise, and as such a bunch of the 3D elements were sanded off into 2D simulacrums - most notably the house:

Which, despite this being a technological downgrade, is way better! It looks adorable, you can actually see what is going on and where Ryoko is, and you can navigate it way more cleanly. God, did...hold on let me tab back to the game...yeah, is there no clock in the original game on screen. That is insane. Anyway the PS1 version had a lot of these cute little graphical additions, even right on the title screen:

It is definitely the better looking version, which is a classic tale - in 1997 the "bleeding edge" of 3D graphics were impressive to players, even through their roughness. Now they just aren't, and so the retro charm of designs that are optimized what the mediums of the time could reliably handle have a lot more appeal.

There was also a PC port in 1998, which did exactly what I suggested and added an "adventure" mode where you could ignore the clock system. They definitely learned over time what worked and what didn't; but the appeal of the gimmick is what first sold it to players in the end.

All of this is to say, don't play Roommate, and if you do just emulate the PS1 game instead of torturing yourself with the Sega Saturn version. Oh...you weren't gonna play a Japanese-only abandonware 90's not-even-eroge dating sim to begin with? Ah, well, yeah, I guess that makes sense.

Man I should translate it shouldn't I? So people can play it...

[fear-is-truth]

𝜗ϱ fiancé! + husband! 𝓟𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝓑𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍 hc

tags — fem!reader﹒sfw + nsfw headcanons﹒violent fantasies﹒infidelity

a/n: i would like to thank anon for requesting this and credit to dear bow anon for helping out !!

one night, as you both rode in a cab on the way to dinner, patrick takes off his walkman and suddenly asked, “have you ever thought about getting married?” his tone was casual, but his body language betrayed his tension—the tightening of his grip on his leather gloves, the unnecessary way he adjusted his tie. when you turned to him, surprised, he waved it off almost immediately. for the rest of the ride, he ignored you, listening to his walkman.

full fic : the perfect girl

weeks later, the topic re-emerged. it was a quiet morning after sex—patrick lay beside you in his perfectly starched egyptian sheets, sunlight streaming in through the windows. “would you ever consider marrying me?” he asked abruptly. the question startled you—again. you blinked at him, unsure if you’d heard correctly. “marry you?” patrick shifted slightly, propping himself up on an elbow. his face was unreadable, though his jaw tightened slightly. “yes. i’d assume it’s a reasonable consideration,” he said, as though the idea had been entirely logical. your heart fluttered despite the lack of romance in his delivery. “yes, patrick,” you said after a moment, a small smile tugging at your lips. “i would.”

full fic : patrick’s proposal

patrick wasted no time. the next day, he presented you with a ring: an 18k rose gold cartier panthère ring, encrusted with diamond accents.

smutty drabble: jerking him off

pre-nuptial agreements (obviously)

meticulously plans every detail of your engagement and future wedding. the venue must be the right blend of modern elegance and exclusivity, the guest list is capped at “only the most important people,” and the floral arrangements must feature imported orchids flown in from singapore. no compromises.

scrutinized every decision down to the smallest detail: the font on the invitations (garamond, elegant but understated), the centerpiece arrangements (white roses only, no filler flowers), and champagne (dom pérignon, chilled to exactly 45 degrees).

patrick donned a pair of ray-ban wayfarers as the two of you arrived at the reception venue (the pierre hotel), stepping out of the rolls-royce.

your wedding dress was custom-designed at dior’s paris atelier. it was a minimalist masterpiece: a structured bodice with a square neckline, flowing into a clean, floor-length skirt with a cathedral-length train. the fabric was italian silk-mikado with a soft sheen, the epitome of elegance. no lace, no unnecessary frills—patrick deemed them “garish.” the veil was long and simple, edged with the thinnest line of swarovski crystals for just a hint of sparkle.

patrick wore a bespoke zegna tuxedo, black with peak lapels, tailored to absolute perfection. the cuffs of his shirt bore subtle platinum cufflinks engraved with your initials and the wedding date. he spent an obscene amount of time choosing the exact shade of black for the tie.

patrick stole quick glances at you, a flicker of irritation shadowing his eyes at the slight asymmetry of your smile. he stewed in his own perfectionist hell, a seething internal monologue growing increasingly deranged.

the bridal portraits was complete nightmare. after making the photographer redo them six damn times—he still found fault. he had scrutinised the angle of your neck, the curve of your jaw, the flicker of light in your eyes. in his eyes, the photos should’ve been magazine-perfect. anything less was sacrilege!

his vows were an unsettling, almost surreal monologue. a strange, disjointed stream of poetic nihilism, peppered with bizarrely intellectual references. sprinkled in lines from fromm’s the art of loving, twisting them into cryptic confessions that left everyone unsure whether he was being sincere or just… pretentious patrick.

the reception unfolded in an impossibly sleek manhattan venue. a cavernous, glass-walled space filled with patrick’s circle of high-powered cronies, along with stick-thin models who seemed more at ease snorting cocaine in dark corners than nibbling on the overpriced amuse-bouches.

the waitstaff darted around the room, terrified to stumble into discussions about stock portfolios, yacht repairs, or debates over which luxury rehab center had the best cold-press juice cleanse. conversations were a mix of shallow ambition and transactional networking.

the dining experience was an exercise in culinary pretension. dry-aged wagyu steaks with precise marbling, delicate beluga caviar that was more a statement of wealth than taste, and desserts that were too decadent (and high in calories) to exist. everything was paired with wine that cost more than most people’s annual mortgage.

the cake was a towering six-tier masterpiece from sylvia weinstock, adorned with sugar flowers so intricate they looked real. each layer featured a different flavour, from vanilla-bean sponge to passionfruit mousse.

only dom pérignon vintage 1985 was served—patrick had insisted on it. the bottles were presented on silver trays by impeccably dressed waitstaff, with glasses refilled before guests could even think about asking. patrick spent weeks debating between this and krug clos du mesnil but ultimately decided the former “sent the right message.”

during the ceremony, patrick’s bored mind slipped into violent fantasies. he imagined choking out the priest with his necktie and chopping up his groomsmen like sashimi.

despite being invited out of obligation, evelyn didn’t show. patrick hadn’t mentioned her absence until much later, casually remarking, “it was better this way.” he didn’t dwell on her, but jane—his secretary and a guest at the wedding—looked quietly heartbroken for some reason.

dancing was beneath patrick. instead, he lingered by the bar, a martini glass filled with a pristine, artful concoction he hadn’t ordered but took anyway because it fit perfectly in his hand. he’d observed the guests, mentally doing fit checks.

after the night wound down, patrick would lie naked in your hotel suite, staring at the ceiling with an unsettling stillness. his jaw clenched as his thoughts spiraled. not about the wedding itself—that was a calculated performance he’d mastered. no, he was questioning the tie. the damn zegna tie. why hadn’t he gone with the brioni?

insists you accompany him to every social gathering, but not because he wants your company. you’re his accessory, his proof of a successful relationship. he spends the evening flaunting you on his arm, introducing you to people who matter to him (read: people whose opinions validate him), and correcting your behavior if he deems it less than perfect.

his morning routine is sacred, and by extension, you’re expected to have one too. patrick buys you a shelf’s worth of high-end skincare products and insists you use them exactly as prescribed.

takes immense interest in your wardrobe. if something looks even remotely outdated or “cheap,” he’ll whisk you through fifth avenue, steering you toward hermès or dior

has a habit of buying you extravagant gifts after every argument—designer bags, clothes and jewelry. “i thought this might cheer you up,” he says, like he didn’t just shatter your nerves an hour earlier.

morning sex is first thing when you both wake up, right before his meticulously scheduled workout—his body at its peak energy. once finished, he’d kiss your forehead and disappear into the bathroom for his grooming routine.

insists on watching the patty winters show and sit you both in front of the television. you often have no choice but to endure his running commentary.

patrick has a love-hate relationship with grocery shopping. he claims it’s beneath him, but when he goes, he micromanages the process to an extreme degree—reading labels, debating brands, and spending 20 minutes in the imported cheese aisle.

your wedding photos are framed in the living room, carefully arranged in a symmetrical layout. patrick often stares at them as he works out.

his idea of romance sometimes verged on the grotesque. one evening, he decided the two of you should watch the texas chainsaw massacre together. he ends up fucking you into the couch as he enjoys the music.

not the type to be overly vulnerable, but in the privacy of your bedroom, he’d occasionally let down his guard. pillow talk with patrick is a mix of unnervingly sharp observations and random musings. he’ll ramble about the fisher account, dissect music lyrics in great detail, or comment on global events with an eerie detachment.

occasionally, he’d break the stream of words with a sudden, “you’re listening, aren’t you?”

patrick hates surprises—unless they’re from him. when your coworkers once threw you a small birthday party, he was visibly irritated the entire evening. “it was tacky,” he said flatly on the drive home. “you deserve better.”

he got you reservations at dorsia, a perfectly chosen gift (think chanel jewelry or a bvlgari clutch), and a bouquet of flowers with handwritten note that’s short, formal, and oddly impersonal: “to another year of excellence—patrick.”

patrick rarely laughs, but when he does, it’s usually at something dark or absurd. once, you tripped over a stack of magazines he left by the couch and groaned in pain. his response? a sharp, startled laugh, followed by an unconvincing, “…are you okay?”

he adores the opera—not so much for the art but for the prestige it carries. he’ll plan elaborate evenings at the metropolitan opera house, ensuring both of you were impeccably dressed. he wore a brioni tuxedo, while he’d insist on you wearing a custom-made gown from carolina herrera or oscar de la renta.

despite his outward sophistication, his attention drifted from the stage to you. hand resting lightly on your thigh, fingers tracing small circles through the fabric of your dress.

he’s absolutely neurotic about cleanliness. he’ll never leave a glass on the counter without a coaster and can’t stand an unmade bed.

hates clutter and will occasionally “edit” your belongings—quietly throwing out things he deems unnecessary, like old magazines or sentimental knickknacks, without consulting you.

micromanages household tasks. he critiques the way you load the dishwasher, fold laundry, or even stack the fridge. “this is inefficient,” he’ll say, rearranging items while you stand there, biting your tongue.

patrick has an affinity for the ritual of lighting cigars. he’ll let you hold the match for him occasionally, but only if you did it exactly right.

would only agree to a pet under duress, and even then, it would have to be something sleek and purebred. when you suggest something more practical, like a rescue, he’s visibly horrified.

when you finally get the pet, patrick is immediately jealous of the attention you give it. if the cat / dog sits on your lap during movie night, he’ll stare at it with naked dislike. “i don’t understand why you let it do that,”

patrick has an odd relationship with your pet. he’ll complain about it incessantly—“it sheds everywhere,” “it’s always underfoot”—but despite his constant bitching, you’ve caught him talking to the pet on more than one occasion. “she likes you more than me,” he mumbles bitterly. the pet tilts its head, oblivious, which irritates him further. after taking another sip of scotch, he nudges it away with his foot—not enough to hurt it in your presence.

but the true ugliness of patrick’s jealousy comes out when you’re not looking. he’ll straight up kick the poor thing or lock it out from your bedroom.

doesn’t officially cheat, but he indulges in frequent encounters with sex workers—usually in secluded, high-end hotels. these encounters, hidden from you, are his way of dealing with his violent fantasies.

afterwards, he comes back to you, his demeanor completely unaffected. he doesn’t apologize, doesn’t act like anything has changed—because, in his mind, it hasn’t. you’re still his. you always will be.

when he’s bored, he’ll ask you to try on outfits—sometimes just a simple dress, but mostly it’s something risqué. he watches you from the other side of the room with that detached gaze, silently critiquing your appearance. “it’s not quite right,” he’ll say, before giving you another outfit to try on like you’re his personal doll.

full fic : leather & lace

while patrick doesn’t outright admit his dependence on you, it’s clear in the small moments. if you’re gone for too long, he’ll call, his tone petulant as he demands your whereabouts, as though your absence disrupts his routine.

at age 27, patrick doesn’t yet feel the need to rush into parenthood, but there are times, especially while having sex, that he considers the possibility. it’s an idea that briefly excites him, but he quickly dismisses it with a wry smile, preferring the idea of you and him maintaining an image of “perfection” without the messiness of raising a child.

though you’ve never spoken about the future in concrete terms, patrick assumes you’ll always be by his side, forever wrapped in his controlling, perfectionist bubble. he doesn’t see any reason why you’d want to leave; after all, why would you when you have everything?

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[ptej1980]

We see what we see….

This is my first post so if you are not a Lukola, on the ship, and believe in end game my blog may not be for you.

Bit of background…I am an Aussie Lukola, and have been on the ship since the first interview dropped in 2024. I got hooked on their energy and their chemistry, the way they spoke about each other and how they looked at each other.

I don’t like to be hand fed information, I like to do my own research, and if you have a gut instinct that something is not right, it probably isn’t.

Throughout this whole cruise 🚢 I have never gotten off the ship. There has been no point. We see what we see and what we have seen can not be matched.

Rumors

Luke and Antonia (twerk)

Antonia has been known in the fandom by many names, twerk/tink/lettuce🐜 she first appeared on the scene as a friend of a friend, Jack Vine. He is someone who is very close to Luke. There are pics and rumors that they may be connected romantically. But…who knows. She started to pop up with Luke, well I am sure you know the rest. We have random pics of L&A together, no real PDA, unless you count life guard Luke where he looks like he is holding a smelly baby. To this day, no confirmation, purely speculation, random pasta pics and all connection has been scrubbed from social media. IMO they were never in a relationship, she was just a friend of a friend that he was helping out, which turned sour after papgate.

Nic and JD (twink)

JD is affectionately called twink by his friends on SM. It is not an offensive term, it was coined by artist Troy Sivan, meaning young good looking gay man. I am just stating facts. Nic and JD have been friends since they met at the RN premier. The two of them have not only been papped constantly, but have also shared pics together with their friends. They have also never confirmed a relationship, yet the magazines, social media and sub fandom have confirmed the rumor for them, labeling Jake as Nics boyfriend. JD and Nics friends time and time again have tried to correct the narrative and say it without actually saying it. I mean come on dancing around singing Pink pony club”. IMO if it looks like a bird, has feathers and flys it is probably a bird.

Now my favourite…..

Facts….

Luke and Nic

1. In Australia Luke drank, shared Nicola’s tea, ☕️ the journalist was asked about it, she commented and said “it is ok they are in love”. In Brazil Luke went to grab and share Nics spoon and Nic gives Luke her cup to drink from. In Italy 🐜 goes to hand Luke a drink and he looks like it is poison.

2. Nicola carried/carries a Polaroid of Luke on her phone case. We first saw it in Australia and continued all through to the summer. She even posted it in her End of year dump, posting her skims campaign

3. These 2 had no end of PDA, from holding hands to being human magnets, heart eyes, cuddling thigh touches, but pinching…the list goes on.

4. Both Nic and Luke were unhinged, sexual innuendo, being called out on a live interview in Australia on the first WT stop. It just kept escalating. I mean we all remember “the bridgerton ride”.

5 They broke a couch and did not hear cut in their intimacy scenes. They lounged together naked, the scenes were not choreographed and they both said it was they favourite scenes to film.

6. Nic designed a claudagh ring collection, which was articled to be a bespoke for season 3. The rings on the hands of the claudagh are very similar to that of Luke and Nicola has been wearing the rings in the committed position since the Galway premiere. Chupi also has the rings listed under the engagement section on their website

7 In Galway Luke met Nics mum in a PDA with a long hug that made Nic cry. He also spent time with her family, where her brother in law tried to get him drunk on Guinness.

8. Cast, crew and Journalists ship Nic and Luke. Most notably Ryan Wheeler, Shonda and Shondaland, their makeup artist ect.

I am sure I have missed some but this blog is getting long…..

Looking at all the facts and rumours, what do you think is the most likely ship? Lukola, Antluke or Jakola? It is not a hard question not really rocket science.

What I am getting at is never forget the facts, ignore all noise. We see what we see. Trust your gut, if you feel yourself spiral and walking the plank may I suggest emerse yourself in a good fan fic. The AO3 authors are fantastic writers and can be a great escape.

[jjjjeonww]

jeon wonwoo - "Executive Secret."

genre - romance (FINALLY.) word count - 830 BANNER BY @wonkierideul !!!!! ~~in which your assistant is your husband. to: @wonkierideul "KIEEEEE i had sm fun talking w you abt this wonu!!! PLEASEE feel free to yap more to me abt anything!! and thank you sm for the banner my lovely <3 fill my dms with anything u want ehehheh :3 ILY MY LOVEE" from, yuna <3

As the esteemed CEO of your thriving fashion empire, you had been running on fumes for weeks, your once-reliable energy reserves depleted by the unrelenting demands of your high-stakes career. Late nights hunched over your desk, early mornings fueling up on nothing but caffeine and sheer determination, the endless whirlwind of meetings, photoshoops, and industry events - it was a wonder of how you could still stand upright, let alone maintain the impeccable composure that had become your trademark.

But today was different. Today, you had a reason to celebrate, a cause for joy that transcended the fleeting thrill of a job well done. Your company's sales had shattered all previous records, a testament to the tireless efforts and unwavering dedication of every single member of your team. And so, in a moment of rare altruism, you had decided to throw a grand gathering, a chance for everyone to forget their stress and revel in the sweet taste of hard work.

Now, as you sat before your vanity, the soft glow of the lamp illuminating your concentration as you applied your makeup with meticulous care, You couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and accomplishment. You had built this empire from nothing, pouring your heart and soul into every stitch, every seam, every meticulously crafted design. And now, to see it all pay off in such a spectacular fashion - it was almost too much to comprehend.

As you reached for your hair curler, the hot metal familiar and comforting in you hand, you lost yourself in the rhythmic motions of styling your long, dark tresses. You curled and teased, coaxing each lock into a glossy, cascading wave that tumbled down your back in a shimmering curtain. It was a look that had become your signature, a style that had graced countless red carpets and magazine covers - and one that never failed to turn heads wherever you went.

But as focused as you were on your task, you remained blissfully unaware of the presence of your husband, Wonwoo, as he leaned against the doorframe, his dark eyes drinking in every detail of your appearance. He had always been your rock, your sanctuary in a world that demanded nothing short of perfection. But he was also your assistant. And oh Lord did it pain him to maintain a professional demeanor whenever you were together, to resist the overwhelming urge to sweep you right into his arms and declare his unending love for all to hear. But the company's strict no-dating policy forced him to keep a respectful distance, even as his heart ached to be closer to you every second of the day.

….

As the glittering celebration reached its crescendo, the ballroom pulsed with the infectious energy and elation of your team. The air crackled with pride and accomplishment, as heartfelt speeches and raucous cheers filled the space, each one a testament to the incredible journey that had led to this monumental achievement.

Amidst the festivities, you moved with the grace and poise of a woman who had not only built an empire but had also mastered the art of leading with unwavering vision and compassion. Your black gown, a bespoke creation from tour own label, hugged your curves and accentuated your confident strides as you navigated the room, accepting congratulations and posing for photos with the same polished elegance you brought to every aspect of your life.

Throughout the evening, Wonwoo remained ever-vigilant, his dark eyes following your every move from afar. As your assistant, he ensured your glass was perpetually filled, your schedule strictly adhered to, and your every need anticipated before you even voiced it. It pained him to maintain a professional demeanor, to resist the overwhelming urge to sweep you right into his arms and declare his unending love for all to hear. But the company's strict no-dating policy forced him to keep a respectful distance, even as his heart ached to be closer to you.

As the night wore on and the celebration showed no signs of abating, Wonwoo found himself inexorably drawn to your side, his resolve crumbling under the weight of his love. He sat next to you cautiously, leaning in to murmur in your ear as you paused to take a sip of your champagne.

"Y/n, look at what you've achieved. Your vision, your dedication, the incredible team you've nurtured - it's all culminating in this extraordinary moment," he whispered, his voice low and filled with barely restrained emotion. "I'm so incredibly proud of you, my love."

You turned your head to face him, your eyes meeting his, and in that instant, the rest of the world fell away. The music, the laughter, the clink of glasses - it all faded into a distant hum as you gazed at the man you loved with every fiber of your being.

"None of this would be possible without you, Wonwoo," you replied softly, as his hand found yours beneath the table, their fingers intertwining in a secret.

[saddest-girl-in-the-whole-world]

broke: of the ninth youths, ortus is the poet

woke: of the ninth youths, ortus AND harrow are huge poets, harrow remembers tons of ortus poetry and she says stuff like "first flower of my house" like oh my god

bespoke: ortus, harrow AND Gideon are all poetic little shits, do you remember when Harrow confessed her greatest sin to Gideon and Gideon proceeded to engage in a little baptism?? a little ritualistic drowning, washing harrow of her sins??? declaring her wedding vows right before sacrificing herself??? I'm not sure what they put in the articles of Gideons magazines but she is definitely a poetic little shit, dear lord

[thurstongrey]

[sugar-petals]

I feel like dramatic classics get done dirty a lot of times. Most of the recommendations are always boring “tailered chic” styles, which would be good for certain work recommendations, but even in my job as an accountant, I don’t have to dress that formally. I don’t even dress for my type bc DCs always keep getting recommended the same boring stuff. I’m more of a casual/street style girly myself.

david kibbe would probably say, "if you can, my elegant dramatic classic lady... go all out... and if you're already an accountant... embody it!" (or something like that) what i would say, and i want to challenge the `what's appropriate for what´ dogma and kibbe recommendation pressure with it:

wanting to dress a way > having to dress a way.

if street style and casual are your thing, maintain it! DC elements can be infused into that. sharp shoulders, tone in tone, geometric shoes. not to mention vintage thrifts, it's a goldmine for gamines and classics. menswear thrifting is perfect for cool DC streetstyle.

also, remember that classic clothes look boring on every other type but classics — and in and of themselves, on the hanger, do feel like the same aesthetic over and over: unless one copies jackie o's actually interesting DC wardrobe. although the "US first lady" trope is... yeah. and who can realistically wear that daily. i prefer kibbe's new DC type epithet ("haute powerhouse"), it's a great name actually.

handy 2025 kibbe type name update chart:

soft gamine's new name is a little too much, soft natural is too limited to magazines here, "deco dynamo" sounds too hilarious for the intimidating dramatic, some new names are missing, but yeah. okay, the old names were more to the point, i can't be the only one? of course, kibbe's TR bias: still "femme fatale". it's the only name that didn't change 😂 i love it. snark aside:

diva/divo chic, spitfire, girl/guy next door, free spirit, dreamspinner, femme/homme fatale, those were right on the money. though, the new ones only settled in on reddit so far, i haven't seen the larger kibbesphere call FN the "nonchalant showstopper" (awkward wording). i hope we maintain the old version, i don't get why he rebranded it all with extra french words.

note how the names used to refer to chic aka style, now it's much more personal identity based. irresistable, belle, elegante, etc. interesting how he goes with the times. "tailored chic" actually gave a pragmatic impression how to dress DC, but at least now you know where the good ole 'DC = bespoke stereotype' comes from. which has its kernel of truth, but names always generalize.

refurbishing DC as a haute couture type is cool actually, which removes some of its office dust. so, the high fashion reference does elevate it to a new level beyond basic tailoring. yes... vaguely classist and aristocratic from kibbe. he always wanted classic and dramatic to be the superior expensive regal hyperfashion categories™ lmao, nothing new, but maybe dupes can help us regular degular kibbe practicioners, and the idea counts.

haute mode -> more options than typical bespoke!

(^to be fair, the movie is more about FG vs FN and literal sweatshops)

meanwhile: in my opinion, it's actually pure classic that is the most highly restricted category, as symmetry and simplicity "need to be maintained always", phew. i wouldn't wanna be a classic dresser myself. dramatic classic still has the benefit of stealing ideas from the dramatic type due to their undercurrent. i think that's where a more refreshing, edgy twist can enter.

chart source

[hrrtshape]

hi emma!!

tell me niche things about your hogwarts dr!! what radio shows and magazines are popular? are subcultures a thing? what is wizard fashion like? are there inside jokes about magic? and anything else you’d like to spill about lol

tysm xoxo — @dollydreams222 ♡

i’ll bite ,,,,, @dollydreams222 <3

radio shows & magazines

there’s wizard wireless, but that’s just the broad term. real ones tune into midnight incantations, a pirate radio show run out of a mysteriously untrackable location (rumour has it, a secret chamber beneath the three broomsticks, but no one can prove it). they play the stuff the ministry would rather you not hear: old, forbidden magical theory, interviews with exiled wizards, songs that are supposedly hexed (they say if you listen to celestina warbeck’s lost verse, you’ll wake up with a different face. no one’s been brave enough to test it).

some magazines are witch weekly, for the glitter-brained, the ones who care about which quidditch player is secretly dating a veela, but the grimoire is the real shit. part poetry, part academic journal, part absolute trash fire. there’s a column where someone claims they can curse your ex with a single letter. the letters section is just people cursing each other back and forth. chaotic, unnecessary, and a cultural necessity.

also there's that underground newsletter me and lily run (like PROS. might i add)

subcultures

hogwarts is rife with subcultures, and not the ‘quirky sweater’ nonsense they tell you about in fanfiction.

there are the ink-drunk, the ones who write spells in their own blood just to see what happens. the cloak cult, obsessed with historical wizard fashion, always draped in layers upon layers of fabric, looking like they walked out of a renaissance painting. the feral ones, who take ‘care of magical creatures’ way too seriously, have pet bowtruckles hidden in their sleeves, and WILL bite you if provoked.

the biggest war is the classical purists vs. the experimentalists. classical purists think wands should never have changed, that spellwork should be recited in dead languages, that there was a golden age of magic that’s been diluted by modernity. experimentalists think magic is meant to evolve. they mix potions with electricity, enchant phones, create spells no one understands yet. they hate each other. academic debates turn into magical duels fast. i personally love it. drama at hogwarts every day

wizard fashion

robes are a given, but the rich wear bespoke robes lined with defensive enchantments, because nothing says ‘money’ like fabric that can block a hex. meanwhile, the underground fashion scene is insane. kids are embroidering spells into their clothes, creating living patterns that shift like the stars. enchanted jewellery is standard. there are a lot, but some of my favourites include: rings that tighten when someone lies to you, necklaces that hum when danger is near. there’s even a trend of ‘liquid fashion’, potions you drink that alter the way your clothes look for a day. one girl in ravenclaw turned up to class shimmering between silk & smoke. 70s.....

inside jokes about magic (i wish they were funny but this is some of the crap i picked up from lower years)

"he must be a metamorphmagus" what you say when someone changes their personality depending on who they’re talking to.

"polyjuice potion disaster" used when someone gets a tragic haircut or makes a terrible fashion choice.

"expelliarmus yourself" a polite way of telling someone to shut the hell up.

"dementor" used when someone is so miserable they suck the joy out of a room.

"merlin’s beard" old people say this unironically. young people have adopted it ironically, meaning it’s about to become unironic again in 5-7 business years.

extra spill

the ministry of magic is half corporate hellscape, half complete absurdist theatre. you’ll see a man in a three-piece suit arguing with a wizard in full medieval chainmail about time-turner ethics, and that’s just monday morning.

wizard diseases are insane. there’s one called "lycanthropic malaise", which just makes you emotionally feel like a werewolf. not physically. just the.....emotional stuff. there’s a whole ward in st. mungo’s for people convinced they’re turning into magical creatures (they are not).

the owl airforce is horrifyingly efficient. people think they just ‘know where to go’. no. they operate on a complex, secret system of magical tracking, bloodline recognition, and ancient migration routes. they do not fail. if you don’t want to be found, you better not exist.

the triwizard tournament is different every time.

SIGH anyways. you asked for the niche details. i gave you the niche details. i am but a humble scribe, bringing you the real hogwarts lore they don’t want you to know.

[freeadmission]

Free Admission Designs published in Malvie Magazine

Models Rebecca and Daniela styled by Heather Jude wearing my upcycled designs.

Shot in the studio at Doris Land.

Published in Malvie Magazine The Artist Edition Vol 608.

Each piece featured my continuous line drawings placed on a thrifted piece of clothing.

Some feature a silkscreened image that I designed by hand.

This collection is hitting the runway on May 21 and I can’t wait to see what the reaction will be.

[yarrayora]

broke: inuyasha is shoujo because it has romance and a female protagonist

woke: inuyasha is shounen because it was serialized in a magazine called shounen sunday

bespoke: inuyasha is shounen because rumiko takahashi made urusei yatsura for the same magazine

[leader-of-grandys]

Hello! I just wanted to take a moment to appreciate your Erik's earrings and outfits in general. Where does he get his fantastic wardrobe pieces? Does he go clothes shopping?

THANK YOUUUU 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Yeah I also like earrings on my Erik that's a nice detail and I like to change them every time lol. Idk why I added them but damn I'm grateful for the past me bc now I can dress my Erik like a barbie doll. He's such a princess 💅

As for his fashion sense and where he gets such snazzy fits the answer is simple - he sews his clothes himself. He has a worm-on-a-string figure and a very specific preference in fit and materials so buying pre-made clothes is usually not an option. Ordering custom bespoke clothes is a possibility but it's too expensive + he is embarrassed to go to the tailor. So he learned how to sew all he wants on his own. He enjoys some mix and match of old fashion and modern trends and has a ton of old fashion couture magazines for inspo.

And here's some of his usual fits!

This absolutely genius picture that is my current avi with Erik in the fuzzy worm coat was a commission piece by Shamrockstar. Erik made a full fur coat out of his kind..... What a cruel man 😔😔😔

Also the sims screenshots! The silly cat sweater is 1000000% canon and its one of the few items that Erik bought. I mean how could he even resist? It's scrunkly cats!

and a lil bonus