AN OPEN LETTER TO PENN BAGLEY, BADGLEY, BADDLEY. WHATEVER.

 

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The following is an excerpt from a piece originally featured on The Style Con:

Dear Penn,

Can I call you Penn? Is that your real name? If I sound incredulous over its authenticity it comes only from the purest place of jealousy-induced doubt. You see, I was born in the ‘80s and Jennifer (that’s me, BTW, hi!) was quite popular. My parents, inspired by the masses, forwent the opportunity to name me something clever, like Mackenzie or Autumn or Jo, I don’t know,Penn. As a result, I have always hated the utterly generic nature of my name. But Penn… Penn sets someone up for greatness, so much so that I refuse to believe it’s real.

But I digress. I’m not here to talk about your stage name. (PS: Holy shit. Okay, I’ll admit I was wrong and hastily judgmental. I just looked up your bio on Wikipedia and your real name is Penn Dayton Badgley. I envy you, Penn, and your parents’ wonderfully WASPy taste. I, Jennifer Lee Bahn—yes, not “Leigh” like the more delicate girls, but “Lee” like Confederate army generals—am but your humble servant in lesser nomenclature.) No, Penn Dayton Badgley, I’m here to talk about your band, MOTHER, which sucks.

Click here to read more.

 

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How to Feel a Life

There is something about this video that I find extremely, well, heart warming.  The girl in front, awkwardly dancing in a too-long dress that is obviously unaltered vintage.  The lone keyboard on stage churning out pre-made synth beats.  The pairs of spindly legs and the light that catches cheekbones when it’s not creating shadows.  How the performance comes out like a tide – nearly literally – and then sucks itself back in again.  And then it’s over.  Ah, but such is life.

The following is a performance from the band Telepathe at the PS1 in the MoMA.

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