View allAll Photos Tagged SelfRespect
fashion photography for Beauty (Hair, Make-up) and clothing / young creator
...collaborated with Kenzo of agence21, who was the head manager-trainer of hair salons groupe jean marc maniatis.
conception : agence21
artistic director : Kenzo.M
photography : Philippe.L
model : Kirstin, Sandrin, Cecile
Hair : agence21
Make-up : Megumi,
stylist : Lina WU-atelier selfrespect
graphics : Kenzo.M
2008-2006 Paris
fashion photography for Beauty (Hair, Make-up) and clothing / young creator
...collaborated with Kenzo of agence21, who was the head manager-trainer of hair salons groupe jean marc maniatis.
conception : agence21
artistic director : Kenzo.M
photography : Philippe.L
model : Kirstin, Sandrin, Cecile
Hair : agence21
Make-up : Megumi,
stylist : Lina WU-atelier selfrespect
graphics : Kenzo.M
2008-2006 Paris
Women who post sexually suggestive pictures of themselves online for attention. The female in the pic is in her mid 30s, BTW.
fashion photography for Beauty (Hair, Make-up) and clothing / young creator
...collaborated with Kenzo of agence21, who was the head manager-trainer of hair salons groupe jean marc maniatis.
conception : agence21
artistic director : Kenzo.M
photography : Philippe.L
model : Kirstin, Sandrin, Cecile
Hair : Keïgo NAKAMURA, agence21
Make-up : Megumi,
stylist : Lina WU-atelier selfrespect
graphics : Kenzo.M
2006 Paris
Wonderful collection of quote expressing your feeling.
You are allowed to download pictures for free about motivational best love quotes .
Below are some of the best quotes we list for you :
#selfimprovement #selfrespect Set Goals Exercise Love yourself Focus on fitness (mental, physical, and...
the hijab
is a muslim womens
traditional dress
a garb of modesty
all say yes
but yet the most
hated garment
by the west
a garment of
oppression
nevertheless
is their opinion
of their chest
ban it burn it
condemn it
they protest
the hijab
the only weapon
of their mass delusion
it gives them
no rest
a symbol of slavery
they attest
but yet the grace
the charm
the beauty
of the hijab
dignity
always
at its best
mrs sarkozy
in a hijab
would
look
more
beautiful
divinely
blessed
she must wear it once i suggest
fashion photography for Beauty (Hair, Make-up) and clothing / young creator
...collaborated with Kenzo of agence21, who was the head manager-trainer of hair salons groupe jean marc maniatis.
conception : agence21
artistic director : Kenzo.M
photography : Philippe.L
model : Kirstin, Sandrin, Cecile
Hair : agence21
Make-up : Megumi,
stylist : Lina WU-atelier selfrespect
graphics : Kenzo.M
2008-2006 Paris
fashion photography for Beauty (Hair, Make-up) and clothing / young creator
...collaborated with Kenzo of agence21, who was the head manager-trainer of hair salons groupe jean marc maniatis.
conception : agence21
artistic director : Kenzo.M
photography : Philippe.L
model : Kirstin, Sandrin, Cecile
Hair : agence21
Make-up : Megumi,
stylist : Lina WU-atelier selfrespect
graphics : Kenzo.M
2008-2006 Paris
Photo 13/365: an encouraging word - everyone has different words that they believe in. I happen to believe that "respect" in all kinds of ways is the way to go. #selfrespect #respectothers #alltherespect #thumbsup #365project #photo13 #canon #canon600d #prime #50mm
a silence her soul wont betray
muslim society is to blame in every way
deprived of her education
married away to a good for nothing
unemployed lazy
who wont work his way
playing cards drinks drugs
she did say
it is raining fatwas everyday
from door to door she begs
next morning begins
another day
anti islam is not just about terrorism
it is how we treat our women this way
a hidden face a hidden sorrow
reflected in her child's eyes
is her pain today
hung on her waist
a broken toy
no toys to play
heads bowed
within the four walls
of gods house
those who pray
mother and son
searching for hope
in the coins you pay
When I first joined Flickr , I got a lot of stick from rich Mujhaidas of the opulent Arab world for showing the other side of disfranchised Muslim society, but now 2 years down the line ,85800 pictures and the pain still lingers , my camera eyes shows me pain that others dont want to see , they take is a normal occurrence , and yet the mullahs assistant runs around with his donation book, to build a new mosque.
On Bakra Idd one sees a ghastly side of the Muslim rich man , buying Dumba costing over a lakh in Indian money, goats bought for thousands of rupees , but no they wont buy a goat for a nominal sum , and give the the rest of the money to a widows home or an orphanage, say this to someone he hits back,,oh sometimes the ladies in the burkha are not Muslims but from another community..
At Friday Namaz you see spirituality working two ways , and I wont go into detail.. the poor will always remain poor and the rich will become super rich it has been ordained before this world of pain was born..
We as Muslims have done nothing to rehabilitate the poor down trodden woman, and that is why they wont photograph the pain of the poor Muslim woman , I do..
My religion is my faith lies in the powerhouse of a Womanhood..now perhaps it might sound like Shiaspeak, but yes Mother is the source of the foundation of my faith..under the feet of a Mother lies the destiny of Man.
I am what my Mother made me..my father may have watered this plant and its growth but it was my Mother who gave me the touch of life in the sacred hallowed domain of her womb.
I dont just shoot the poor Muslim woman merely as a beggar but as a Mother too.
Her pain must be seen and felt by all, not as a subject of my photography but as a subject of mans neglect of the woman race..it is accursed Man who brings woman down to earth for his vicious needs and wants..evil is not outside but within Man..
dedicated to all mothers ..my mother and your mother too..
A fashionable & funky 70's inspired flaire pants, Unique and Feminin.
Silhouette encompassing and fix to the hips like a draping-cut pants, makes legs longer visible.
Flower Print material is no-stretched so if you wish something more easy to wear on a daily basis , the Check Stretched material is more recommended.
But you can have more impact on High fashion effect with the Flower Print material.
"New Collection of atelier selfrespect,
This is our Shopping site for young casual wear inspired by seventies music and colors.
Creative & Stylish clothing."
to see more:
or
124,637 items / 878,137 views
I shot this a few days back, and this is a picture I shot as I saw it, I have tweaked the body of the picture but I was helpless with the soul of the poor woman begging outside the door of Allahs house.. this is her destiny , this is her fate , she cannot escape it , not now she is already charged and condemned , she covers her face in a hijab , but pain cannot cover itself , it reveals such is the strength of pain , the inner strength of pain.
And what a day to remember the quintessential pain of the Muslim woman in Islam..today the Shias celebrate the Martyrdom of Bibi Fatima Zehra the only child of the Holy Prophet of Islam.
Wife of Imam Ali .
Mother of Hassan and Hussain .
And I did not plan to write what I am writing and this is not Shiaspeak, this is a fact of life , and nothing has stopped me shooting it, I shoot pain , the greatest essence of Godliness , pain that goes beyond caste color or creed and connects Man to God and God to man.
People who walk in and out of the Mosque see her too, but than the Will of God the call of the Muezzin is more important than such common scenes seen all over Mumbai outside our religious spaces .
But this one killed me as human being and as a poet who shoots the ongoing drama of life..I am not a Mullah , I do not promote any religion save the religion of self respect towards Motherhood and Womanhood.
Mother is the gate that leads to God.,..no religious place is greater than the essence of Mother and through this unintentional post a part of my passion as street photography I place it at the feet of a Mother , a Mother we all believe in..a Mother a universal reservoir of pain she suffered and her suffering continues..as those who cry for her loss are killed in the name of Islam , and they are not just terrorists these are hardcore Islamists who are Namazis and followers of the Faith..I dont believe that Terrorists have no Religion it is misguided religious thought permeated by the rogue Mullah that has made them killers of the human race and yes it is only Muslims that lustfully sado- masochistically love killing Muslims.
And the killings will never stop as we collectively watch in eunuch silence the soul of our religiosity cannibalized by murderers in the name of Allah.. and the leaders around the world dont care a damn as long as they have power and nobody usurps their petrol banana kingdoms..
I am not into diatribe but I thought this introduction was necessary and I have not even thought of what poem I shall write here I leave it to God he guides the mouse I merely click his thoughts..
she is alive
no she is not alive
she is dead
the scabbard bleeds
when rapier sharp
saber cut her head
call it fate destiny
her life is meaningless
as it moves ahead
death is more
easier to handle
than life that
bleeds you red
through her veiled
silence
to my poetry
she added words
unsaid
her pain
her sufferings
her faith intact
more important
than the cry
of her children
for bread
the holier
than thou
namazi
threw a
few coins
into the interior
of Allahs house fled
fashion photography for Beauty (Hair, Make-up) and clothing / young creator
...collaborated with Kenzo of agence21, who was the head manager-trainer of hair salons groupe jean marc maniatis.
conception : agence21
artistic director : Kenzo.M
photography : Philippe.L
model : Kirstin, Sandrin, Cecile
Hair : agence21
Make-up : Megumi,
stylist : Lina WU-atelier selfrespect
graphics : Kenzo.M
2008-2006 Paris
Today is the Anniversary of my marriage!! I'm sending you these last two photos, wishing to all those of you that have beloved friends, companions,or both, a deep human communication and contact, full of respect and selfrespect, in serenity and harmony.
I wish I could take back my first kiss. I wish that it hadn’t been out of spite and jealous revenge. I wish that I hadn’t been stupid and drank that night. I wish for a lot of things, but most of all, I wish that I had dealt with everything differently, so I wouldn’t be stuck with this memory.
A sixteenth birthday party, especially your own, is supposed to be cherished. It’s supposed to be something to look back on with fondness and say, “Wow. That was great.” The night started out perfectly. My best friend Katie and I were sharing our party, and she arrived at my house to get ready. We pulled on our dresses and applied our make-up to the blasting tunes of Justin Timberlake and 50 Cent. An hour before our party, Katie pulled out a bottle of vodka.
“It’s our sixteenth!” she said, unscrewing the cap. “Have fun and drink up!” Although it was diluted with cranberry juice, the alcohol still burned my throat and my stomach, and immediately gave me a buzzing sensation in my head. I felt like I wasn’t myself, but that wasn’t such a bad thing. I was usually a wallflower, the shy girl in the back of the classroom who knew the answers but wouldn’t raise her hand. So maybe not being myself was good, especially on the night of my birthday.
That was my first mistake: Not being me.
The second didn’t occur until the guests started arriving. Since Katie and I don’t live in the same state, the coffee shop we had rented was soon packed with teenagers from New York and Connecticut. Katie and I enjoyed ourselves and began making regular trips to the bathroom to finish off the rest of the vodka in doses from the little plastic cups. We never got through the whole thing, and we didn’t need to. I was tipsy from the first sip, and I was probably drunk by the time the party was halfway through. It was that night I found out I was a lightweight.
With the flow of partygoers, my friend Chris finally arrived. I had known him since we were both three, and our relationship had been complicated ever since I started liking him as more than a friend. That summer, though, he had gotten a girlfriend, and when I called him to get together, he was always busy. Maybe I was being immature then, but he was my first real crush, and he was dating a girl who none of his other friends liked, and who hated me.
That was the second mistake: Letting my jealousy get to me.
I was going to make Chris see that I could be fun and beautiful, as well as intelligent. I already felt the part, with my hot pink dress, elegantly curled hair, and boosted confidence, so all I needed was to act like it. I danced and laughed and flirted, but he didn’t notice, or didn’t seem to care. In the middle of it all, I spotted the one who would make Chris experience the heartbreaking envy that I was feeling.
His name was Sam, and I hadn’t seen him in forever. When I still lived in an apartment about eight years ago, he lived in the room below me. Back then, though, he was an innocent boy who used to do everything with me, from skating to seeing movies to going trick-or-treating during Halloween. Now? He smoked, he drank, and he did drugs… He was the complete opposite of me, and the epitome of the guy I was taught to stay away from. Despite that, I felt if anyone could help me, it would be Sam. No one knew him, he didn’t know anyone, and, best of all, he didn’t know the real me.
We were on the couch before I knew what was happening. I was curled up next to him, his arm around my shoulders, as we yelled to each other above the pounding music. Everyone was stealing glances in our direction, gossiping unbelievingly that I was actually with a boy, while Katie tried to avert their attention. There was some novelty to the moment, something that compelled me to actually start to like it. I had never had a boyfriend, and I had never had a boy pay this much attention to me before. I couldn’t believe it. Sam, who had probably had numerous girlfriends and partied every night, actually seemed like he was interested in me… Or, at least, the person he thought I was.
Which brings us to my third mistake: Letting it get too far.
When he leaned in to kiss me, I must have known on some level that it wasn’t really me he wanted to kiss. He wanted to kiss the vision I had created for myself. And I knew that I hadn’t really wanted him to kiss me anyway. I just wanted Chris to look over and see us talking and having a great time in the hopes that he’d realize we were meant to be together. But that’s not how it happened.
I leaned away as he was leaning forward.
“Are you going to kiss me?” I asked, which I immediately regretted. What was I doing, asking him that? How much of a loser could I be?
“Uh, yeah… I was thinking about it,” Sam said, looking perplexed — and rightfully so. I felt bad. Here he was, this cute boy who obviously wanted to kiss me, and there Chris was, already taken. I didn’t think about the consequences or the aftermath. In fact, I didn’t think much at all… my thought process was limited at the time. So I just smiled and leaned in, kissing Sam.
I felt nothing.
I had always imagined the setting for my first kiss to be somewhere romantic, like a beach or a park, or the front steps of my house. I had also imagined feeling something, like that flow of happiness to the heart that’s supposed to come with a kiss, but I didn’t feel that either. My first kiss, I realized with a shock, had just happened, and it was not at all as I pictured it. It had been on a worn leather couch at the back of a crowded room, with the music so loud I could barely hear and with a guy who I hadn’t seen for years, and didn’t know very well.
My plan hadn’t worked. By the time the night was over, I realized three things: Chris didn’t like me anymore than he had before (if anything, he probably lost his respect seeing me kissing a random guy), Sam and the rest of the teenagers there thought I was “easy,” and alcohol may seem like it can solve any problem, but when the effect is over, it leaves you picking up the pieces of your mistakes… alone.
N. A.
This is a set on Flickr - Muslim Beggars of Mumbai..
Call me what you like I shoot pain , whether it is in a veil or exposed it cannot escape the karma of my camera lens..my camera is unforgiving it shoots despair sorrow as I see it unfurl on the streets..the case of the beggar Muslim woman is bad , totally neglected but unseen..do we really care to see women begging ..no we dont..
I will give you an example it might be a bit shocking but yes I have a picture to corroborate it.. a milder one ..
This morning while walking to work outside the closed sandal shop , part of the Tata Agiary was a young man , strapping in built, asleep and wearing a Tshirt and totally nude beneath, his privacy overexposed on main Bandra Hill Road .
As a photographer I could have taken the shot as mans fall from grace, but it would shame me as a blogger , women passed him , school kids girls passed him they just giggled and moved by.
I went to the Bandra Police Station , and told the Inspector on duty,he looked as though I was crazy , but finally walked with me and saw the nude man , he said ..Koie Bhikari Hai and went back.. I was sure he would do nothing..
Later I walked back the same way after a long time and the guy was still there nude , but his privacy was covered by his leg I took a shot..so this is Mumbai.. who cares our conscience and that of our society is dead to all these issues , we notice North Indians beat the shit out of them..we notice guys dressed like me at Nakabandis and let the terrorist dressed as a policeman perhaps hypothetical ,get away..
This is Mumbai and the fate of the beggar Muslim woman is worse than a cracker lit up a dogs tail and nobody hears its shrieks..
Yes I am a blogger and I story tell life in pictures as it passes me by...
photography of fashion clothing for women's ready-to-wear/young creator, spring summer 2005
3rd collection created by our atelier at Montmartre, Paris 18e arr.
inspired by "Oyaji"-this japanese word can mean a man roams in the street with the typical big HARAMAKI belt, "Oyaji" misses elegance but caracter sympathy, just like a popular man.
With this theme i wanted to recreate sunny souvenirs my grandpa left me, and i tried to combinate the details and the silhouettes in a lovely way: big HARAMAKI (high waisted) pants, SUTETEKO (loose silhouette) jeans, low waist belt Trench coat, "cargo" jacket etc...
in fact this is my last collaboration with Mr.OTSUKA, after this collection i took a very long vacation^^; out of creating a entire collection but some pieces.
pattern make : Yusuke OTSUKA
design : Lina WU-atelier selfrespect
web:http://www.selfrespect.fr/
photography of fashion clothing for women's ready-to-wear/young creator, spring-summer 2004
1st collection created by our atelier at Montmartre, Paris 18e arr.
inspired by mixing street tast with "dance"; loose-socks styled jeans, fluid skirt etc...
2nd inspiration : japonism; long coat Kimono, jumpsuit Kimono by cutting a real Kimono, big Hakama pants etc...
design : Lina WU-atelier selfrespect
pattern make : Yusuke OTSUKA
2003 Paris
web:http://www.selfrespect.fr/
135,539 items / 1,036,705 views
This lady has gone back to her native place in Andhra she visited my work place every Thursday I normally try not encourage beggars and I read pain as your read light when you shoot a picture through your camera , this inbuilt meter is what allows me the discretion to shoot what I want to shoot too.
Her child will be asleep but she will force her to wake up adding to the sympathy factor..she is a young mother and such is her silent stress she wants you to give her money not for herself or her beggarly state but for her child?
Or is it because of her husband ?
I dont know I shoot pictures I never ask personal questions helps in the log run, why should she narrate her life story to me , she would if I was a woman photographer but I am not..
And as I reiterate time and again who would ever ask her why she has been reduced to life of a beggar.
I am not a social activist I am the light that shows you a path where pain lives pain has no permanent address it is like a bee always on the move.
Earlier when I joined Flickr as a newbie 10 June 2007 took a lot of flak for showing Islam in bad light some called my act of photography a heresy , I hit back with poems than I did one thing one hardly does I choked my Flickr comment box for good.
I like comments I am a good commenter too but I keep my hate my bias to myself..I dont come running to your door to say your religion sucks I just would not be able to do it, so on my Flickr photo stream if you dont find me you are sure to find yourself in the religiosity you believe.
I also shoot with your eyes your devotion when I shoot your faith as passionately as I shoot my own.
So back to the beggar Muslim woman , tell me honestly if she had no pain would she really like to beg from strangers I talk of this Muslim beggar or others I shoot , there maybe a black sheep or two beneath the hijab but who am I too judge.
I must make a serious confession here during my days of drinking I was an alcoholic once upon a time a million light years away,., I came home sloshed wanted to sleep but there was this beggar lady who would scream her lungs out ALLAH and in a continuous breath non stop, her sound her scream drove sleep away I wanted to go outside and shout at her do get the you know what..but I covered myself and went back to sleep.
She tortured me every day of my life and I never saw her once in my life time ..eventually I forgot about her I gave up boozing for good and I thanked this screaming lady who embedded Allah on my alcoholic stupor those days thereby holistically curing me, for the healing I thank my own family.
So Allah works in strange ways , I am going through very hard time and within my anguish within
the cry of my soul I shout ALLAH more times than her.
And I am stuck in the wrestling hold of fate there is no relief no escape the blog gives me momentarily relief it cauterizes my wounds through the wounds of others I shot and share.
I dream poems may sound strange and it is dreams that I relive through words.. words in the soul of images I shoot.
And as I said earlier if I stop shooting pictures I could by just updating an old Flikr post add a new lease to life..like I have done here..
Sometimes I am sick and tired of shooting pictures the same story revisited everyday , but photography is what heals me and perhaps heals you too.
I am a chronicler I received a friend request at Flickr a very nice one but I shall block her nevertheless simply because I am sick and tired of adding cross dressers transgenders who over impose their sexuality their fetish on me by having me on their contact list as their poster boy..I am not interested ..
I copy her message sent to me..
I AM REBORN TODAY
Firozji, i feel like as if i am reborn today. yes ji i find it difficult to type this mail as my vision is blurred by tears. reason....? i saw the pictures captured by your soul... and i am still crying.. life..with its mysterious colours... men and women with their joys and pains...unknown things in the known world of ours... oh my God you made me see life in an an absolutely new angle and made me to feel that iam born again today. can i be included in your list of contacts...iam afraid of using the word fiends... I will stand at a corner and watch you in awe. just allow me that.
My reply I just wrote to her before I block him/her for good.
I am sorry I cant add you nothing personal its just that I am off all it
I am sick and tired of seeing porn semi porn pictures perhaps NOT on your stream but in the stream of your friendS I have a daughter a grand daughter should be enough as an excuse .
I will be blocking you to remove you as a one side contact ,
Take care
Nothing personal.
At Facebook I will not add people without mutual contact, incomplete profile and without a message to me before adding me I deserve that as I have my family stuff and cant add somebody I am not compatible with..
This is a blogger as he cries out life is nothing
but a wrestling bout when bad days finally go
good times come the lord pulls you out
you have to go no way out
no bribe this one rule you just cant flout
however hard you plead you shout
the grave waits the hole beckons
the wet soil waiting with an open mouth
i never planned this poem but words came out
from the brain of my smithy where poems sprout
to randy der joel my best friend
we sometimes think alike
photography of fashion clothing for women's ready-to-wear/young creator, spring summer 2005
3rd collection created by our atelier at Montmartre, Paris 18e arr.
inspired by "Oyaji"-this japanese word can mean a man roams in the street with the typical big HARAMAKI belt, "Oyaji" misses elegance but caracter sympathy, just like a popular man.
With this theme i wanted to recreate sunny souvenirs my grandpa left me, and i tried to combinate the details and the silhouettes in a lovely way: big HARAMAKI (high waisted) pants, SUTETEKO (loose silhouette) jeans, low waist belt Trench coat, "cargo" jacket etc...
in fact this is my last collaboration with Mr.OTSUKA, after this collection i took a very long vacation^^; out of creating a entire collection but some pieces.
pattern make : Yusuke OTSUKA
design : Lina WU-atelier selfrespect
web:http://www.selfrespect.fr/
I had just turned twelve when I realized I wasn’t young enough to be a carefree kid anymore but also not old enough to be a “cool” teenager. I was also unlucky enough to be a twelve-year-old with thick glasses and orthodontic braces. In spite of the “four eyes” and “metal mouth” name-calling I had to endure, my mother insisted these temporary impediments would all be worth it someday. She reminded me of Hans Christian Andersen’s story, The Ugly Duckling, to make her point.
My misery was especially amplified every Friday at Walgrove Elementary School, which was coed day in my gym class. That was the one day of the week when the boys and girls had combined physical education classes. Most of the time that meant girls playing foursquare or dodge ball with the boys, which was bad enough since I wasn’t particularly adept at either game. However, the worst activity for me was the Friday coed dance class that rolled around about every third week. On those days, we would march single file into the gymnasium and the girls would line up against one wall with the boys facing us from the other side. Most of the time, the teacher put dance partners together but occasionally she let the boys choose their own. Needless to say, I was usually one of the last to be chosen and almost always ended up with a freckle-faced red-headed kid named Pete who was having his own rejection problems.
Of course, as in every grade school there are those kids who never seem to go through any awkward stages - the popular kids - who everyone else envies. In our coed dance class, those lucky ones were Veronica and Robbie. Veronica was blond and pretty with a bubbly personality; Robbie was a developing athlete with a friendly grin and dark curly hair. When it came time to choose partners, they always picked each other and it was understood by the rest of us that they always would. After all, they were a perfect match and obviously belonged together. Since I, like many other girls, had a serious crush on Robbie, I often wondered what it would feel like to be Veronica - one of the beautiful people, one of the chosen ones. The day came when I received a small taste of that feeling.
It happened during one of those dreaded Friday dance classes. Once again the teacher suggested the boys choose their own partners. As I waited, leaning up against the wall with the other girls, I noticed Pete wasn’t in the boys’ line across the way. Then I watched anxiously as one by one the other girls were chosen until I was the only one left. No boys remained to choose me even if they had wanted to. As I stood by myself, enduring the looks of pity, my lips trembling, tears ready to fall, Robbie suddenly walked over to me and took my hand. “I’ll dance with you,” he said. I glanced over at Veronica in surprise but she just smiled and waved as she stood alone while Robbie led me out onto the gym floor to where the others were waiting.
Soon after that incident, I graduated from sixth grade and there were no more P.E. dances to contend with. I transferred to another junior high school and lost track of Veronica and Robbie for good. I don’t know if they ended up together or not. However, I never forgot the two of them and the kindness they showed me that day.
Years later, when my straight body turned curvy and my tallness became an asset, I, with my contact lenses and toothpaste smile, became the swan my mother had predicted I would. While I enjoyed my new appearance, I found it didn’t bring me the happiness and satisfaction I had expected. I think that’s when I realized that Veronica and Robbie had given me so much more than kindness that day. They had given me the truth - that beauty on the outside isn’t nearly as important as the beauty that comes from within.
C. S.
photography of fashion clothing for women's ready-to-wear/young creator, spring summer 2005
3rd collection created by our atelier at Montmartre, Paris 18e arr.
inspired by "Oyaji"-this japanese word can mean a man roams in the street with the typical big HARAMAKI belt, "Oyaji" misses elegance but caracter sympathy, just like a popular man.
With this theme i wanted to recreate sunny souvenirs my grandpa left me, and i tried to combinate the details and the silhouettes in a lovely way: big HARAMAKI (high waisted) pants, SUTETEKO (loose silhouette) jeans, low waist belt Trench coat, "cargo" jacket etc...
in fact this is my last collaboration with Mr.OTSUKA, after this collection i took a very long vacation^^; out of creating a entire collection but some pieces.
pattern make : Yusuke OTSUKA
design : Lina WU-atelier selfrespect
web:http://www.selfrespect.fr/
A Tight pants Check stretch pants, Smart and Easy.
Stretch material encompassing and fix to the hips like a draping-cut pants, makes legs longer visible.
Easy to wear on daily basis, possibe for Work wear or some formal scenes.
"New Collection of atelier selfrespect,
This is our Shopping site for young casual wear inspired by seventies music and colors.
Creative & Stylish clothing."
to see more:
or
2600 x 2600 pixel image designed to work as wallpaper on most iOS devices.
Image source: www.pexels.com/photo/kick-chess-piece-standing-131616/
Typeface: Transat
A Tight pants Check stretch pants, Smart and Easy.
Stretch material encompassing and fix to the hips like a draping-cut pants, makes legs longer visible.
Easy to wear on daily basis, possibe for Work wear or some formal scenes.
"New Collection of atelier selfrespect,
This is our Shopping site for young casual wear inspired by seventies music and colors.
Creative & Stylish clothing."
to see more:
or
We were in the science lab and our teacher was conducting an experiment.
Suddenly, one of my colleagues whispered to me, “I heard you were in the cross-country race yesterday.”
I nodded and smiled. I hadn’t come in first, but I was proud of my efforts.
Her mouth twisted into a sneer. “So how did you do? Did you actually manage to finish the race?”
Sarcasm laced her voice. My cheeks flushed with warmth as I stared at her in shock. I knew what she referred to — it was my weight. My figure was chubby, not athletic. I enjoyed running, but she obviously didn’t think I could run three miles. Her words were like the acid in the beaker: they burned.
“Of course I finished the race,” I said softly. I swallowed several times and pushed back my tears. Why was she humiliating me?
A blanket of shame crept over me in that moment; I felt ashamed of my body and ashamed that I’d attempted that race.
It wasn’t the first time people had made rude comments in reference to my weight. I was only about one stone (fourteen pounds) overweight, but it didn’t stop some people from looking my way and occasionally spitting out names such as, “Fat Pig! Lump of fat!” or saying, “You’re nothing but a fatty!” My nature was to be shy and gentle, and those words stung. I never provoked anyone and didn’t deserve those cruel remarks.
Added to this were difficulties at home: my father was in the midst of a nervous breakdown, my older brother behaved like a wild maniac due to a drug problem, and my mother was constantly exhausted from full-time work to support our family. She was the glue that held the family together and I didn’t want to burden her with any more problems.
Several years before, when I was a child, my mother attempted to concoct homemade ginger beer. Yeast was the vital ingredient, of which she added a little extra. The bottles were placed in the basement of the house, to give them time to brew, until one night all the ginger beer bottles exploded from the overdose of yeast.
I felt like one of those bottles: full to the brim with emotions, and about to explode. And written across the label of my bottle was one word: Worthless.
Later, when I was nineteen years old, somebody handed me a teaching tape on the topic of forgiveness. “Forgiveness doesn’t justify the actions of the person who wronged you,” the voice on the tape said. “Forgiveness releases you from bitterness and helps you to move on with your life. It brings freedom.”
My colleague’s face appeared in my mind. I remembered sad blue eyes peering at the class. Her figure was plump and soft curves jiggled as she moved around — she was double my size. I suddenly sensed that she was also like a bottle of ginger beer; emotional pain was stuffed deep inside her, and some of it leaked out the day she ridiculed me in public. Her mockery was wrong, but instead of anger, I now felt pity.
“I choose to forgive her,” I whispered in the silence of my bedroom.
After I made my choice to forgive, I began to collect affirming words from friends, whether written by them on cards, scraps of paper, e-mails, or scribbled down in my own hand so I wouldn’t forget what they said. These encouragements were bound with a rubber band inside a shoebox and sometimes scrapbooked. On days when discouragement came knocking, I’d pull out these words and remind myself that, yes, I am valued.
L. J.
Just another Friday at the Mosque ..the Muslim poor woman begs ..understated pain and pathos all congealed in a veil...
photography of fashion clothing for women's ready-to-wear/young creator, spring summer 2005
3rd collection created by our atelier at Montmartre, Paris 18e arr.
inspired by "Oyaji"-this japanese word can mean a man roams in the street with the typical big HARAMAKI belt, "Oyaji" misses elegance but caracter sympathy, just like a popular man.
With this theme i wanted to recreate sunny souvenirs my grandpa left me, and i tried to combinate the details and the silhouettes in a lovely way: big HARAMAKI (high waisted) pants, SUTETEKO (loose silhouette) jeans, low waist belt Trench coat, "cargo" jacket etc...
in fact this is my last collaboration with Mr.OTSUKA, after this collection i took a very long vacation^^; out of creating a entire collection but some pieces.
pattern make : Yusuke OTSUKA
design : Lina WU-atelier selfrespect
web:http://www.selfrespect.fr/
photography of fashion clothing for women's ready-to-wear/young creator, fall-winter 2004
2nd collection created by our atelier at Montmartre, Paris 18e arr.
inspired by 1950's fashion, boxed coat under knee (style Givenchy), long coat shaped cut under knee by using cachemire wool W face, patchwork style's cargo pants (rock-street 50's) , cotton poplin shirt black and white with very modern details...
i tried to present a texture uni-sexe, modern, elegant design for this collection.
in fact, this collection was designed within 2 weeks and 2 monthes for sampling ^^;
design : Lina WU-atelier selfrespect
pattern make : Yusuke OTSUKA
2003 Paris
web:http://www.selfrespect.fr/