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21-12-2006
  136
Brooklyn, baby!
 
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Does anyone have these (I believe from Vogue Nippon), or any other from the set larger? I know the photographer is Greg Kadel. I believe this was shot in 2005. Only these small versions were posted in the model's forum.

Thanks!

gregkadelstudios.com
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04-01-2007
  137
trendsetter
 
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does anyone have scans of irina lazareanu from the december issue of interview magazine?

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09-01-2007
  138
windowshopping
 
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can someone please scan the editorial of Tayla Collins in the Dec China Vogue? She will also appear in the Feb and Mar issue of German Vogue

 
14-01-2007
  139
windowshopping
 
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Tom Ford UK Vogue November 2005 (and German GQ January 2006)
Hey,
I'm looking for an editorial of Tom Ford with a (mostly) naked model. I'm looking for one shot in particular, where she's naked and standing up and he is sitting on a couch below her.
I've been looking for it for ages, but I couldn't find it on the net.
Please help me.....already feeling like a desperate perv always typing "Tom Ford naked model" into google.


The picture looks similar to the one on the GQ cover
credits: http://www.gq-magazin.de/gq/2/content/13262/index.php
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24-01-2007
  140
The future is stupid
 
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Quote:
Originally Posted by evae
not really an edit, but im looking for an article in THE NEW YORKER, about how handbags are created (or something like that...) just read that trent from pink is the new blog read this article, and he was fascinated. hope you know what i mean and could help me - thx!!!
BAG LADY

The New Yorker
09/25/2006
Andrea Lee

I had a handbag epiphany recently at a literary luncheon in Milan. The occasion was a book launch for Isabel Allende, at a grand apartment behind La Scala, and the high-ceilinged rooms lined with paintings were crammed with writers, a few Italian senators, and a countess. The largely feminine company being the kind of leftist intellectuals who don't dress up, there was little flamboyance in attire, but a glance at one of the couches in the salotto told a different story. Parked there were five enormous crocodile handbags of the latest designer styles--bags as large as Christmas turkeys, groomed and bedizened, glistening and scaly as pet dragons, exuding, in their reptilian complacency, a subtle air of menace. More than a hundred thousand dollars' worth of bag, lined up like Porsches outside a night club.

The sight reminded me that for the past several years we have been living in a gilded age of handbags: a rococo time of profligacy, opulence, heights of stylistic genius and depths of vulgarity, but, above all, a time of exponential proliferation and vitality. Since the turn of the millennium, the role of the handbag has changed from that of a useful but peripheral accessory to the absolute object of desire. Last winter, an English journalist describing London Fashion Week wrote, "Everybody--everybody--is talking about handbags with the intensity of cardinals appointing a new Pope." If each fashion generation has its defining silhouette--the elongated lily shapes of Poiret in the early nineteen hundreds; the shoulder-padded forties and eighties; the full-skirted New Look of the fifties--then the silhouette of the first years of the twenty-first century is sleek and long and linear, with volume added not by a bustle or a big hat but by an enormous, bulging bag.

Designer bags now regularly cost a month's rent. They've spawned their own jargon, from "It bag" and "arm candy" (both already passe) to the current "stealth bag"--an expensive purse made by a lesser-known artisan. Open any fashion magazine and you find pages of bag porn, seductively arranged and carefully lit pocketbooks in close-up, overshadowing any accompanying models. In paparazzi shots, celebrities totter under the weight of the latest limited-edition bags like knights displaying their emblems.

Silvia Fendi Venturini is a small, rather shy Roman woman with heavy-lidded eyes and a feline smile that deepens subtly whenever she talks about hammered calf and visible stitching and Plexiglas buckles. Venturini designs acces-sories and menswear for Fendi, S.R.L., the Roman fashion house founded as a leather-goods company back in 1925 by her grandparents Edoardo and Adele Fendi, and brought onto the international stage in the nineteen-sixties and seventies by the five Fendi daughters--Paola, Anna, Franca, Carla, and Alda. Now Venturini, who is Anna's daughter, is the only Fendi family member who designs for the company, which, since 2001, has been part of Bernard Arnault's LVMH luxury-goods empire. She is revered in the industry as the creator of such cult handbags as the Spy, the Ostrik, and last season's B. Fendi. But mostly she is known as the author of the Fendi Baguette, the bag that in the late nineties changed the pocketbook landscape. The Baguette is an oblong bag about the size of a folded newspaper, with a Fendi logo clasp and a short handle, designed to allow the bag to nestle closely under the arm the way Frenchmen (in cartoons, at least) clasp their loaves of daily bread. Like a Petrarchan sonnet, the Baguette form is always the same, but within it the variations are unending: it has appeared in everything from denim to feathers to gemstones. When a mugger demanded Carrie Bradshaw's bag in an episode of "Sex and the City," she corrected him: "It's a Baguette."

The evolution went like this: Back in the eighties, as the bull market was inciting a new era of flashiness, handbags remained strangely timid and restrained. A fashion neophyte, I was acquiring my first designer bags and dreaming of others, and such dreams were simple: one wanted a Kelly or a quilted Chanel, or a bamboo-handled Gucci or something sparkly by Judith Leiber. These bags were certainly expensive, but they were understood to be investments and still carried a matronly aura of rich aunts and bourgeois mothers--they weren't fashionable, not objects of impulse and lust. Then, in the nineties, luxury conglomerates started buying up venerable brands, and Miuccia Prada transformed a boring upper-middle-class Milanese label into a postmodern kingdom, presenting, along the way, a pricy minimalist backpack in black parachute nylon. Young women and their mothers both wanted this bag, which was practical, modest, and eminently cool, and yet it semaphored money--one of the first bags outside the old classics that you could find counterfeited in Hong Kong.

In 1997, Silvia Venturini brought out the Baguette, and it changed the market irrevocably. The Baguette was that rare object that answered perfectly to the spirit of the times, which was a mass hunger for ostentatious display, and also a desire for frivolous treats for women who worked hard at having it all. The Baguette, with its differently colored and elaborately decorated variations, made stylish women dream, like kids with Pokemon cards, of collecting the whole set. Baguettes sold so quickly--a hundred thousand in the first year--that the Fendi workshops in Tuscany could not keep up with the demand. Waiting lists became a fundamental part of status-bag culture. They gave upper-middle-class women the sense of being part of an inner circle of bespoke fashion. To date, Fendi has sold about six hundred thousand Baguettes (average cost: $1,500), and still brings out thirty or forty different versions every year. The Baguette pheno-menon presented new economic opportunities for rival fashion houses, who rushed to pick up on the trend. And so, in a flurry of attention-getting signature bags with cute names, began the twenty-first-century bag wars, the rush of inventiveness and profit that added to the dramatic revival of houses like Gucci, Louis Vuitton, and Christian Dior. (In 2005, leather goods accounted for fifty-four per cent of Gucci's revenues.) In a casual genealogy of turn-of-the-millennium handbags, it could be said that the Baguette begat the Prada bowling bag, the reborn Jackie bag by Gucci, the Saint Laurent Mombasa, the Murakami Louis Vuitton, the Dior Detective, and scores of other bags women all wanted, and bought.

"C'e stata un'overdose di borse"--"There has been a bit of a bag overdose"--Venturini said, one afternoon earlier this year, sitting at her big white worktable upstairs in the nineteenth-century Roman palazzo that is the new Fendi headquarters. "It's quite funny. Everyone thought to copy the Baguette, and now everybody thinks you can support a company with accessories, especially handbags." She had on a gray dress with a brown shahtoosh around her neck, her round face pale and tense, her blond hair pulled back. Venturini doesn't seem to concern herself with the competition. After the Baguette, she produced a series of hit bags, most notably the Spy, with its poufy turban shape and hidden change and lipstick compartments, and the B. Fendi, which looks to become a design classic, with its large sculpted buckles and ladylike handles. That day, she was in the throes of creating a new handbag, hoping to continue her run of hits.

"For the moment, we're calling it the Palazzo bag," she said, gesturing at a brown leather object before her. It looked like a bucket, the size of a child's beach pail, round on the bottom and with a soft drawstring leather top. It was a prototype, the first mockup, a working model of a bag that first existed in Venturini's head, then as a sketch on a computer screen, and then as a paper pattern. An artisan in Fendi's workshop near Florence crafted it by hand. "Perhaps we'll come up with another name when we get right up to the collections in Milan--that's when we are more relaxed and discover the real character, the identity of a handbag." She laughed. "Now there is no time to think about names. Now there is a lot of pressure. A really crazy moment."

On this particular afternoon, the piano nobile of the palazzo was full of buyers and managers from the worldwide network of a hundred and twenty-five Fendi shops, visiting Rome to preview the fall collections. The first two floors house the company's flagship store, the executive offices are on three, and the top two floors contain the airy design studios. (Karl Lagerfeld, who designs Fendi's women's pret-a-porter and its furs, sweeps in often, like a black-winged angel.) Throughout, there's a feeling that Italians call sopra la bottega--the family atmosphere in a place where everybody is crowded together above the shop and working to make it a success.

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24-01-2007
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The past two years have been good to the company. It has emerged from the turbulence surrounding its four-year transition from a family-owned firm to an LVMH subsidiary. In spite of the success of Venturini's accessories, the company had overextended itself by quickly opening more than a hundred shops during the post-Baguette years. Squabbles within the Fendi clan--the five sisters and their families added up to about thirty shareholders, which in 1999 agreed to sell a fifty-one-per-cent stake to LVMH's joint venture with Prada--added to the muddle. The company had no central headquarters, working conditions were poor, and Fendi risked losing Lagerfeld, who reportedly didn't get along with Prada's C.E.O., Patrizio Bertelli. The turnaround began in 2004, when Arnault bought out the remaining Fendi and Prada shares, and set about revamping his billion-dollar investment, restructuring the retail network, opening a palatial Manhattan store designed by Peter Marino, and creating a symbolic hub for the company by transforming the Palazzo Boncompagni Ludovisi into the Palazzo Fendi. Guiding the process was Michael Burke, Fendi's new C.E.O. and a onetime LVMH manager, who had helped reinvent Dior with the designer John Galliano. It was Burke, an intense, soft-spoken man, half American, half French, who kept Lagerfeld in the fold. Now Venturini and Lagerfeld share the same enormous desk in the loftlike studio.

"Nothing big works if you want success in Italy," Burke told me as he led me around the palazzo. "In this country, even if you're big you have to keep the mind-set of a small company, working in fiducia totale--total faith." He went on, "It's like we're in the kitchen with all the cooks, with flour on the floor."

Upstairs in the atelier, designers and assistants who had just finished with the menswear show were preparing for the pret-a-porter, but the center of all the energy seemed to be the homely brown prototype bag. It reminded me of a Moroccan leather bag I had in ninth grade that smelled strongly of camel. This bag, which Venturini handled with tender protectiveness, like a mother with a backward child, was to be the future face of Fendi. It would make its debut on the runway at the fall-winter pret-a-porter show in Milan, accompanying clothes designed by Lagerfeld. Venturini noticed my skeptical expression and smiled. "This is just the first prototype," she said. "Probably you won't recognize it in the end."

She said that she had been thinking for a long time about doing a bucket bag, a style that Fendi last did in the sixties. "When I saw Karl's first drawings of the winter 2006 collection, where everything is rounded, and is about volume, I thought it would be nice to do a bag that also gives the effect of volume."

A bucket, she said, is a hard bag to do. "A round bag takes a lot of space," she said, holding the prototype awkwardly under her arm. "From a practical point of view, it should be soft, so first we did it soft. But now I'm interested in hard leather, and so I want to see if we can at the same time make it rigid. We don't like to do things the easy way." She called across the room to one of her design assistants, Marco De Vincenzo, a young man with a faun's face and a mass of curly dark hair, wearing huge rapper jeans and a striped pullover. He approached holding a swatch of thick caramel-colored hammered leather embossed with a repeating architectural design. He spoke quickly to Venturini: "About those pockets. You said thirteen centimetres, but on a bag of this size, eleven really does better."

"Va bene, do eleven," she said. "Now, the Plexiglas handles." She picked up a chain made of fat black plastic links. "This is too smooth. I want each link---"

"Faceted," De Vincenzo finished for her. "And the coins--"

"Janus-head and squirrel pattern. Check the Baguette with the coins to get the sizes."

The next step in the design process would be to figure out many variations of the Palazzo bag. Then would come the ordering of colored leathers and design components--studs and handles and other decorations--from suppli-ers in Tuscany and Lombardy. Further mockups in different leathers would be created by the Fendi artisans. Then, with a design team that includes De Vincenzo and Cristiana Torre, the head of accessories, a decision would be made about the final design. Only then would the artisans near Florence begin to produce the bags, about a hundred different models. From these, Venturini and Lagerfeld would select the dozen that would accompany his clothes down the catwalk.

"In Florence, we sit around the table at the factory with the second or third prototypes and all the ornaments and we get to work. Often we fight." Venturini went on, "Then in Milan it's always a very exciting time when the bags arrive from Florence. Some are beautiful, and some which we thought would be beautiful are a big disappointment. There are always surprises, like at Christmas."

The prototype is called the Palazzo for a reason: showing a knack for brand consolidation, Venturini modelled it on the Palazzo Fendi itself, with its neoclassical pilasters and arched windows. "Of course, this is just a try--we're not happy with the quality yet. The idea is to do something very baroque and dramatic. We want to work with this idea of non-embroidery to give a three-dimensional look--using other elements like very light metal studs shaped like little towers and pillars and doors. Then we are going to add little bricks, some made of leather, some metal, so it will be"--Venturini laughed and suddenly looked like a small girl--"it will be like building a little house."

Venturini grew up in the family business, her childhood in the nineteensixties paralleling the rise of Fendi from a local firm to a company with an international reputation. "My best times were spent doing my homework hanging around the shop, watching my mother and my aunts at work," she said. "When I was twelve, they finally let me work as an assistant package-wrapper." She continued, "The atelier was always a bit of a salon--famous actors and artists would drop by. Fellini would come. I met Karl there when I was four years old." There is a picture that shows Venturini at around five years old, wearing a tiny fur coat designed by Lagerfeld.

"Karl sends me books and books, for inspiration," she said, indicating a stack of volumes on the table, including a thick book about eighteenth-century French inlay woodwork, and another dedicated to the baroque wall paintings of the Aimo family, a dynasty of Piedmontese mural artists. The Aimo book has an inscription in Lagerfeld's black slashing script: "Ce livre est une source inepuisable de grafisme, de broderie et d'arabesques."

Another source of inspiration is the Fendi archive, a warehouse on the outskirts of Rome with nearly every Fendi bag made in the past eighty years stored in temperature-controlled vaults. "I carry them," Venturini said. "I like them when they get old and worn. If I can't find something in the archive, my mother will have it, or one of my aunts."

For a brief period in her twenties, Venturini left the company: she headed off to Los Angeles, where she met and married a French jeweller. Before divorcing, in 1994, the couple divided their time between Brazil and Italy and had two children together. "I tried to run away, " she said. "I knew that it was a lavoro totale, a totally involving job. But I came back in 1984, when my first child was about to be born. Back to the family, back to the business."

I met up with Venturini and her team two weeks later at the Fendi workshops at Bagno a Ripoli, outside Florence, after the artisans had completed the next incarnation of the Palazzo bag. While I waited, I found myself thinking a lot about handbags.

I remembered a family story: that the reason my father's nose was particularly flat was that in 1915, when he was three years old, he was standing by his mother's elbow when her swinging metal-mesh handbag accidentally smashed him in the face. Could that be why I have always regarded handbags as objects of mysterious potency?

An artist friend once told me about a nouveau-riche Russian client who came to her studio to look at paintings. The client was very haughty, and she clutched, high in her arms, like a shield, an enormous bag covered with buckles and chains. As the woman looked at the paintings, she let the bag drop lower and lower; then, finally, with tears in her eyes, she put it on the floor. "It was like she'd stripped naked," my friend said.

Designer bags and their increasing cost seem to arouse a universal hostility in men. (Even gay men don't care much about handbags.) Freud interpreted them as--yuck--female genitalia, but they are really more like households or dowries, signs of possession and responsibility and flaunted power which we women--always foragers--carry around with us and display to each other.

I thought about my first Kelly bag, presented to me a long time ago by a Japanese business associate of my husband's. With a flourish, he put the orange box in my hands, and my husband looked on in a jealous rage. Soon afterward my husband found an excuse to ban the exchange of gifts with clients.

"Non le finiremo mai!"--"We'll never get them all done!"--De Vincenzo shouted, waving a list of several dozen variations of the Palazzo that were expected to be made by the end of the week. "Did you see the plans on the computer? The way they mixed them up, it looks like a video game!"

Venturini shot him a mollifying look. They were sitting at a round table upstairs in the complex at Bagno a Ripoli, with Cristiana Torre and the managers of the facility. On the wall, the five Fendi sisters, all with feathered "Charlie's Angels" hairdos, stared intensely from a photograph. Outside a large window, the winter sun shone down on a suburban-industrial landscape of small factories divided by cypresses, stucco apartment houses, and, in the background, past a state highway, brown Tuscan hills dotted with farmhouses.

Venturini, wearing jeans and a jacket with a stretched-out black scarf, looked wearier and grumpier than she did in Rome, as did the rest of the staff, who smoked frantically as they gloomily stared at the center of table. There sat the Palazzo bag--four of them, one in black patent leather with the architectural design embossed in gold; one in midnight blue with black trim; one whose sides were covered with studded metal, like a modern mace; and one in the dark-brown shade known as testa di moro (Moor's head). Surrounded by the usual heap of accessories--studs, buckles, chain links--the bags looked both soft and rigid, as Venturini had described, tidied-up and gleaming versions of the humble brown prototype. But the team looked at them as if they were dull school-boys who had failed an examination. In the next three days, they had to come up with a hundred variations on the theme.

The effectiveness of a handbag design, it was becoming clear, turns on its versatility: you have to create a shape striking enough to hold its own when rendered in a wide variety of colors and textures and sizes. (Back in Rome, I had heard Venturini talk about making a version of the Palazzo for evening, approximately the dimensions of a takeout-coffee cup.) Fendi has released between seven hundred and eight hundred versions of the Baguette, and each is recognizable by its silhouette alone.

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I stopped in at the Fendi warehouse and cutting rooms in a big pastel building nearby that houses a trove of leathers. They arrive from tanning plants that have been operating in the nearby town of Santa Croce sull'Arno since the eighteen-hundreds. The facility's director, a man with a ruddy face, showed me leathers in all colors and finishes, thick and thin; lamb and calf and pigskin; snake and crocodile and ostrich; fish and eelskin. I watched as a cutter in a blue coverall used a scalpel to cut an American alligator hide tinted a pale pink, and saw how much skin would have to be discarded so that the markings on the bag would be uniform. The director pulled out rare skins destined for one-of-a-kind custom-made bags: immense pythons with the design of each scale thrown into relief by subtle hand-painting; a lizard with a laserlike iridescence; the creamy white hide of ostrich legs, used only for bag handles.

The laboratorio, where the cut skins are sewn into bags and decorated, is a brightly lit space full of worktables and computers, where about forty workers were hand- or machine-stitching, hammering, and gluing. One table was heaped with tiny gold lame B. Fendi evening purses, to be given to celebrities in time for the Academy Awards. Second and third prototypes of the Palazzo stood on some tables.

The ornateness of these bags contrasted strangely with the austere atmosphere of the room, where technicians labored in a concentrated silence worthy of a monastery scriptorium. The question of whether skilled workers like these, who earn about twenty-five dollars an hour, can compete with the expanding ranks of Chinese workers, who earn perhaps a dollar an hour, is a question that must keep Michael Burke, the C.E.O., not to mention many an Italian politician, awake at night.

Back in the meeting room, Venturini picked up the testa di moro prototype to show me something I hadn't noticed before. This particular version had tiny leather doors that actually opened to show miniature hand-painted sepia-toned scenes of Rome."We tried printed scenes, but it looked too cheap, a little kitschy," she said. "This is getting close to how I want it. And I'd like to add little locks on the doors."

I remarked that the multiple layers of leather required for this model made it look a little on the heavy side. She gave me the kind of look that Julian Schnabel might give someone who asked about the practicality of serving dinner on the plates in his paintings. "These ornate versions are more . . . objects," she said. "We don't care if it is heavy or not--if it's beautiful."

The first drama connected with Fendi's fall-winter pret-a-porter show was that Bernard Arnault, the C.E.O. of LVMH, who had never attended a Fendi show, announced that he was coming. There was a sense among the staff that Arnault was ready to see some return on his company's billion-dollar investment. Michael Burke said that his boss was like a man with a cellar full of rare vintages, each one with its own flavor and timetable, and that he sensed when one fashion house was ready to pop.

The second drama occurred at the show itself, when the photographers' platform collapsed, resulting in pandemonium: shrieks and swearing from the dozens of photographers who were thrown off balance. Most of the photographers walked out, to protest the unsafe working conditions. Arnault and Anna Wintour and Carine Roitfeld and other members of the audience heroically resisted the temptation to stand up and stare at the ruckus in the so-called pigpen at the far end of the runway. (The Italian fashion editor Anna Piaggi, birdlike in high heels and a feather-duster hat, climbed up on a chair to peer at the confusion.) The show began, underphotographed, forty minutes late.

Lagerfeld's clothes featured a lot of gray flannel, suggestions of kimonos, bustiers, and, of course, the finished Palazzo bags. About ten of them appeared, including one in black patent leather and the version covered in metal studs like a medieval weapon; Venturini had interspersed them with ornate versions of the B. Fendi. The audience was enthusiastic. Suzy Menkes, in her review the next day, called the bags "strong, even overwhelming."

Backstage after the show, I worked my way through the mob to where Lagerfeld was standing, a tall black-clad beacon. Smiling his faintly savage smile, his silvery neoclassical bouffant in place, he is clearly unshaken by the whims of tycoons or the tantrums of photographers. "Another one of Silvia's dreams in leather," he said of the bags. "She was a unique child--she had an instinctive passion for the materia prima, for luxury."

As she greeted well-wishers, Venturini had on a black dress with a pair of vertiginous pumps that made her look more than ever like a child playing dress-up. But her face was transformed: pink-cheeked, radiant, the way women in movies look when they've just given birth. She laughed and introduced me to her daughter, Delfina, a pretty curly-haired eighteen-year-old. "Can you believe it?" she said of the show. "When a little while ago there was nothing at all!"

She spoke of taking a trip to visit some old friends in Brazil. "But now I have to take care of the spring menswear," she added. "And, of course, with the accessories, there's something else I'm thinking up."

As her mother spoke, Delfina squeezed her arm. "La mia mamma," she said."My mother always has another bag in mind."

De Vincenzo, wearing a polyester shirt and his usual gigantic jeans, appeared, clutching a bottle of champagne. He told me that most of the bags had arrived just the day before. "There were so many of them!" he said, as if talking about a bumper crop of peaches. "Big ones, little ones--we had to choose in a hurry." Cristiana Torre, the accessories director, looked pleased, but in a more businesslike way. "It looks very good," she said. "But tomorrow we begin taking orders, and then we'll really see what this little purse can do."

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25-01-2007
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hello...does anyone have the "american dreams" editorial from the latest elle with gwen stefani on the cover, or know if it's up in a thread? thanks!!

 
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^Go here and you'll see it

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25-01-2007
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thanks, missmag. i was looking for a different editorial in the issue though, entitled american dreams.

 
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Oh I'm not with my magazines at the moment But I'll check it out & scan it later tonight for you and post it in here

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25-01-2007
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ELLE US Feb 2007
American Dreams
Photographed & Styled by Manuela Pavesi




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scanned by MMA

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Quote:
Originally Posted by eisley
does anyone have scans of irina lazareanu from the december issue of interview magazine?

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27-01-2007
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... more Irina/Freja by Weber (Interview December 2006)






source: me


Last edited by Pedro; 27-01-2007 at 03:09 PM.
 
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