Here's a possible new trend among the absurdly style conscious urban dwellers: carbon self-sinks.


(Ioana Iliesiu's The Digital Glutton, which may or may not be as described here. Source.)

After a day spent cutting and splicing your DNA at the GM spa, heat trapping gases will be calcified in the bones of your upper and lower limbs each time you breath them in. Whenever you inhale, you're growing and cultivating your own osseous topiary. You can trim it with the geometric rigidity of Le Nôtre or the Impressionist brambles of Gertrude Jekyll. For those without balconies or even an access to an exterior fire escape for an herbal pot or two, this might be the only chance to enlist your latent green thumb.

Match your mobile quasi-rock garden together with your favorite sustainable ensemble, and you'll receive envious glances from your fashionable rivals at the post-catwalk garden parties during Fashion Week, possibly even catch the normative camera eye of The Sartorialist. Yes, it will hurt, but probably not as much as wearing hooves.

Once your postnatural peruke becomes an unmanageable thicket, you can have the whole thing sawed off by your favorite coiffeuse to the stars, who will then send the excised growth to an underground storage facility. Climate change as body modification infiltrating and occupying the rarefied physical and social spaces of the Nouveau Regime.

In the Archives:
Bouffant Topiary
Michael Jackson as Landscape Architecture