Friends: If you have NOT picked up your copy of the Selby; now is your chance. It’s a great book filled with quirky folks and pretentious, unreachable people with high chins and little in their cubburds save the booze and whatever is hiding out.

As you know there is always a handwritten Q/A after a highly stylized photo shoot.  It’s a brilliant idea and commercial at that.  Ollie shares his intense passion for cologne (heavy on the Lang), his scooter as well as his boots; so he doesn’t Tom Cruise the ladies.

However, I have done some research vis a via Ollie and as you know the book has been out a while (you can pick up your copy at Anthropologie); still a comfort to know Ollie took the time to answer a few questions about his love for Chloë Stevens Sevigny. And “the brother…” what a sweet shout to the Paul.

It’s safe to say, Kitty Bawler is taller than Ollie and has a great looking leather jacket too.

“Even in the bedroom I have my camera, I sleep with my camera, I have lunch with my camera,” he said. “I go to dinner with my camera and I’m recording my experience.”

-Ollie Zahm, New York Times

Perhaps the best quote came from OZ (er; friend)…where the Times piece says: “Not all of Mr. Zahm’s supporters, however, are pleased with his latest tack. “I hope when people think about Olivier they consider the whole body of work,” said the veteran New York night-life impresario Paul Sevigny, Chloë’s brother, who maintains a pristine collection of the entire Purple library. He recalls that the magazine used to be filled with discovery — a glorious hodgepodge of fiction, poetry, art and photography by both established and emerging names. “Maybe he’s the man with some sort of master plan, and he’s smarter than the rest of us, but I hope people don’t judge him on his latest magazine.”

and further and further on in the piece OV ends with this:

“It made people realize that I was not just a pervert who wanted a new girl every night and was obsessed by his own celebrity and narcissism,” he said. “It made me realize that I can be more open with the Diary and more complex and really express myself. I’m not just the cliché.”

(image: Purple Diary)

Kitty: Do you know what narcissism means?  Perhaps not even in your infinite Frenchness you know.

Acquired Situational Narcissism (ASN), a condition that affects individuals who encounter fame and celebrity.

Narcissism assumes the all good and the all bad.  Dr Robert Millman clarifies, “If the bond (mother-child) isn’t strong, the separation goes awry and one has real difficulty recognizing themselves as not all good and not all bad. The all-good mother or the all-bad mother. The all-good self or the all-bad self.  And malignant narcissists can love you and they can hate you.” Narcissistic criteria follows a pattern of profound self-involvement, yet the individuals considers themselves constantly to the exclusion of thinking of others. They are more concerned with how they appear than what they feel. Narcissists reside in a world where they are real and other people are puppets or actors on their stage.  They fail in their reality and ability to distinguish the actual from the fiction. Millman reveals that “acquired situational” does not mean that a one does not have some elements of early development aberrations.  Narcissists often hate their mothers. “They have decided based on that episode or that memory that she’s horrible or not appreciating how brilliant he is,” Millman explains.

Also, I hate to break it to you OV; but New York hasn’t ever been prude. The rest of America, perhaps. But New York fucking CITY. I mean, BRU.

Dear Terry; Ollie’s name should be on the e.vil list. I’m going to pen them a letter tonight.

Note to self: Terry LOVES his mother.  It’s all over his diary. And, that homeboy is F U N N Y!

Don’t think I’m affected;  I wear my sunglasses and take pictures of many hot nude women. It’s my job.  I don’t want you to feel (in any way) I borrowed my friend Terry’s idea to start a diary based on my exotic life of travel, pristine sushi, high rent views, designer white jeans, high-class women and aviators.  I make a lot of money.  I really do.

I’m an artist and a photographer. This is my job. I’ll be fifty soon. Long live Helmut Newton.  Long live Terry Richardson.  Long Live Casanova. I think it’s important I get in touch with myself and the women I love.  I break things.  I ruin relationships. I’m self destructive to the sense I can pick myself up again and survive. I like the darkness. I love art; women are pieces of art.  Luckily, I never really leave the Standard because I support various parties upstairs with scantily clad lovelies.

Today, I wear a t-shirt and look out onto the vast skyline of New York.  My night will start in the same fashion, much like groundhog day, where I can putter around after a shower in the zero privacy room I have.  I’m a photographer; I’m a voyeur, yet, it’s important I too face the lens.  I try not to shoot in colour; I love the cold greys and shadows. I love the way it elongates me; torso and legs and genitals. Gold bengals, ornamentation, models dolled up and painted like flowers.  I will photograph them all.  I will make models famous.

Don’t be afraid of me.  I love you, New York.  You are my muse; forget my broken frames and wilted flowers.  Don’t pay attention to how long I’ve been gone from you during my travels around the world when I was trying to forget myself.

I’m back.  I’m here.  Come find me.

I’m a photographer.

(Photo: Purple Diary)

Kitty Bawler wants to know if Terry or Ollie though of the rabbi Hallow’s Eve disguise.  Meow.

Kitty’s favorite Q/A portion plucked from the pages:

Why is sex such an integral part of Purple Magazine?
Sex is a part of every fashion magazine; I’m more direct about it because I embrace it without fear as part of my aesthetic. Being part of the creative world, sex is something that I have to consider, think about, read about and experience in a healthy and natural way, but what I see is the opposite. Sexual freedom is becoming dangerous and almost criminal. In America there are now sexual rehabs, and if you consider sex as an addiction in the same way as drugs or alcohol, you are categorizing it as a dangerous or uncontrollable impulse. As long as violence and abuse are not involved, sex is something completely natural, sophisticated and inspiring. The people who go to sex rehab are not making that decision alone. They are trapped in a system where they have to go to pretend to their family, to their boss or the media (like Tiger Woods), “I’m good now.” But you’re not “good” — you’re just a hypocrite and you want your money back, and you want your wife back, and you are stupid robot, and you play the game but you are not honest because you accept that society decides what’s good or not for you sexually.

Do you ever feel attacked or misunderstood for taking such a liberal stance on sexual freedom in your magazine?
Unfortunately most of the time people think that if you deal with sex you’re bad. I’m not afraid of that and I don’t think it’s bad. I think that we have to protect a certain freedom today especially if we are involved in creative activities. We create because we question the limit of what people think is good or bad. We don’t give a damn about the money we make but more about the intellectual influence we have. And if I thought I had a bad influence on people I would stop and I would become invisible.

KB: Invisible?  Really?  I mean, R E A L L Y?

Kitty Bawler is annoyed with French people who overstay their welcome in New York. She’s currently working on a tracking device to alert her of Ollie’s world domination plans.

After his brilliant international travels, Ollie is back, in New York.

Ditto Terry who landed sometime last week.

What does this all mean?
Chic topless parties at the Standard, cheap tight wad photos of Ollie packing heat in jeans, lots of celebrities and fashion maniacs.  Drugs, sex and rock and roll.

Boys; we ANXIOUSLY await your fashion week festivities and red rope parties.

We cannot wait to see Paul in his new spread.  How fabulous!

Yes, He’s Back…Or As Caroline might say about the chosen, collective few…

(picture via: Puple Diary)

Kitty Bawler dreams in black and white.  She’s doesn’t care what you think.  Swear.

Dear Terry, Dear Ollie:

On your holidays, it’s safe to assume you both 1) look at one another’s e-diaries 2) plan to be out of one another’s camera lenses at the same time 3) plan to be away from New York at the same time in August 4) take lots of bed shots to entice your voyeurs (Terry, at least you have a sense of humour) 5) booze, bed…your loves beyond your love, 6) trim your proper stashes and, 6) miss one another terribly.

Terry, say Ollie is making a bit more with the cash spree on the Sardinia trip, no? You seem to be a welcome look to the ex-con low life.  I like how you’re playing it. Big pectorals. Jailhouse tats.  Patriot on the run. Well-groomed in the shower as you scrape dead skin off your back.  LA, Vegas, Portland.  Industrial baby. You might even use nice lotion.  Hmmm….I might like you better.  Ollie, you want too desperately to be part of the American flag.  Relax, baby.  Relax.

Oh well, I really must be going. Don’t be gone too long as summer’s end fades away.  Fashion Week!  Don Hills re-lauch!

Thank you both for making me feel better about myself.

(Image 1: Purple Diary.  Image 2: Terry’s Diary)

Kitty Bawler isn’t particularly fond of digital diaries in a digital day.

To think I felt an inkling of sadness for you as your lover ditched and ran for another man.  You “kissed” and said your goodbyes and now you are back…in white.  How alive you must feel.  So, no Paint It Black for you.  The girls dressed in their summer clothes are in your room.  And their clothes are off.

Yes, you are back with your slim wife beater, your Terry-like tats (tell me do you share the same artist?) and facing the upper west side of Manhattan (why don’t you look downtown at your admiring crowds?) Your American beauty must feel ever-so-exploited (perhaps not if a rental) by your August 3rd rendevous. The shower is fine, it’s the other snap with your American flag tat. You couldn’t help it, could you?  You had to exploit her for exploitation sake.  For one, you are a photographer. Your ex might hear or look or want to see your new ass.  And you have nothing to do but pick back up and carry on. You’re going to go on a real binger; I feel it.

Lucky, for you, New York grants you that pleasure.

Try not to take it for granted, Ollie.

“My Love will laugh before the morning comes...”

(image: Purple Diary)

Kitty Bawler isn’t scared, promise.

From Purple Diary End of Love:

DEAR FRIENDS

To all the anonymous friends who follow my life on the Purple Diary, I have to tell you that I’m in a lot of pain. Natacha Ramsay dumped me on Sunday. She ran away with her lover (with whom she has had a long romance that I was aware of and accepted) for a summer of love. She called me to tell me that she loves him, that we are finished. I asked her to come back two times and she said no two times. As you know if you follow the Purple Diary I try to create and promote an alternative love lifestyle (that I used to call in French La Communauté des Amants). Natacha’s decision to leave me so brutally and painfully will certainly be seen by conservative people as a clear feminine revenge against the lifestyle Natacha and I used to share, and think that I’m a dreamer. Right now I’m just a mess. But I will hopefully recover soon and offer you some more pictures of love and sex.

Olivier Zahm

PS Ollie: I guess I can hit up Terry R and the Jersey boyz while you lick your wounds.

PS 2: Don’t be gone too long;Kenmare needs you !  Paul needs you!

X Kitty.

While New York summer and piss on the streets fills the air, Paul lives it up.  QUESTION: Where are you, Ollie?

Oh, and a Jaws song going out to you, dear P-Funks:

Show me the way to go home
I’m tired and I want to go to bed
I had a little drink about an hour ago
And it’s gone right to my head
Everywhere I roam
Over land or sea or foam
You can always hear me singing this song
Show me the way to go home.

(image: Purple Diary).

Kitty Bawler isn’t scared. Make sure to re-read, What’s Next, Don Hills? Who Me?, Portrait of a DJ as a Young Man,  One Final Sendoff, When the Cool Class Isn’t That Cool Anymore,Smoking in the Boys Room, The New Max’s Kansas City…I Think NOT,  Drum Roll, The Hipster of the Decade!)

QUESTIONS:
1- has the doll been to Kenmare?
2- Does the doll have sleeve-like tattoos? and,

3- Does Ollie have a doll?

(Image: Purple Diary)

Kitty Bawler isn’t scared. She writes: Dear, Paul. What’s Next, Don Hills? Who Me?, Portrait of a DJ as a Young Man,  One Final Sendoff, When the Cool Class Isn’t That Cool Anymore,Smoking in the Boys Room, The New Max’s Kansas City…I Think NOT,  Drum Roll, The Hipster of the Decade!)

Photo by Terry R and re-posted/propped/worshipped by Ollie D via his Purple Diary.

A most unholy horror movie of Creepy Chic or Just Plain Creepy with these two foeheads at the helm.  Perhaps it was staged this way for affect if not…reaction.  Think about it,  both these tight jeans know their capabilities. 

Still, one might quickly skim through the offender pages.  Think about it.  Terry, Ollie.  Ollie, Terry.  Who would you run from first?  Given to fly. Yes, pray to fly if you run into these homies in a darkened ally. Can you imagine Terry chasing you through winding rat-filled corridors?  Even Vice couldn’t imagine such a scenario.  Makes my skin crawl.  Lights out in a wax museum. 

Perhaps separated by birth, these two whackles have joined together to scare the world and the world is scared back.  Take our Lolita arse grabbing Terry R (porn stash and Happiness glasses included) and the equally horrifying slanted aviator man, Ollie D. 

A Friday chill down my spine, seeing Terry labelled as a Bowery Boy.  My pepper spray is ready to go. -Kitty Bawler.

KB related pieces Thumbsucking Terry.  Brothers in Arms, When The Cool Class Isn’t That Cool Anymore, You Couldn’t Make This Up if You Tried, SSUR vs Purple Diary. Brooklyn Hipsters vs. Purple Diary, Vice, Double L’s vs PD, and INTRO 101  The Purple Diary.

(images: Purple Diary)

Kitty Bawler is back…finally. After a five-year stint of silence, the hip have once again spoken. Having been around the block, she’s studied the trends and inner-workings of all the uber-pretentious, black labeled culture of the downtown New York crowd.  She’s cynical and a bit jaded. She detests aviators.