Kate - Hot Glue Gun Mess, A: Funny Stories, Pretty DIY Projects

Cover design by Mumtaz Mustafa

Cover photographs by Laura Austin

Interior design by Kris Tobiassen of Matchbook Digital

Interior photographs by Laura Austin and Taren Maroun

Shortly before the publication of this book, my dad sat me down in another swanky restaurant and told me he and Dakota were getting divorced. My thoughts drifted momentarily to my now ex-stepmom, whom my future children would never call Grandma. I then replied, Aww, bummer, Dad!... Can you pass the bruschetta?

This book contains personal, inspiring, sad, weird, crazy, downright mad, and hilarious stories that Ive mined from my crazy-ass life that will make you LOL and PEE (as in urinate in your pants) in a good way, and show you that your next creative project can be sparked from any life experience. Ive burned myself with a glue gun so many fucking times Ive lost count... of my scars. Do these projects without fear. Failure is totally an option and it might happen, but it could also be an epically beautiful failure. Dare to surprise yourself. Dare to delight in yourselfbecause, why not!

I think one of the most important things following your blog has done for me is help me to embrace the moment and free my spirit. I am very Type A, and I need a reminder every once in a while that it sometimes takes making a mess to create something beautiful.

comment posted on the Mr. Kate blog

Contents

My name is Kate, I go by Mr. Kate. And no, I dont have a penis.

Supposedly I didnt cry when I was born. My mom claims I just felt the air with my tiny hands, wiggling them in this new weird world. That was on June 4, 1983, and by now Ive gotten my hands into a whole lot of weirdness.

Ive built a successful lifestyle and design business around the name Mr. Kate, where I inspire people to think outside the box and create our own unique identities through style and design. I think traditions that dont sit well with you should be challenged and redefined to fit your lifestyle. Because thats how its done doesnt fly with me.... I like to do it myself, and I apply that philosophy to everything.

The personalities who formed and nurtured me were my oddball, down-to-earth mother, who can make anything from a hand-sewn gown to custom furniture and is more into flannel than diamonds; my grandmother, a champion thrift-store shopper; and my father, who grew his career from struggling comedian to one of the most powerful people in Hollywood. The by-product of his successmoneybecame the gas that fueled a wildfire of craziness in my childhood, but amid the dysfunction of Hollywood, Ive managed to separate myself from the penis cars and facelifts to define my own wacky life.

Vintage found objectsmy passionand my own artwork decorate my walls, and my love of thrift stores and DIY projects helps fill my closet. I have a laugh- and love-filled relationship with my former boy-bander, hot-ass soul mate and business partner, Joey. My life is by no means perfect and its often messy, but armed with a glue gun, its uniquely mine.

My yins and yangs are humor and intense ambition, prettiness and roughness, weird and real, rhinestones and dirt, feminine and masculine, Mr. and Kate.

Come with me on a romp through lifes follies while wearing fabulous shoes, and celebrate your inner weirdness. Not the bad kind of weirdnessthe best kind! The kind that makes you giggle with joy or take in a quick breath of delight. The feeling you get when you put together an outfit that makes you feel so you or see a room design that makes you gasp with wonder and say, I want to live there! Its about making and doing and cultivating your artistic expression inspired by the beautiful details in this outlandish thing we call life.

Because... #WhyNot.

Around the age of fifteen, my tummy had gone from prepubescent flat to looking like it had the slightest layer of padding, filling me out a nearly imperceptible amount. I showed my mom my stomach. I feel like I might be getting fat, I informed her, looking in the mirror and evaluating myself.

She waved off my concern. Its adipose tissue, she assured me, always a vocabulary snob. Everyone stores a little extra fat after puberty. Its normal!

Normal was becoming a foreign concept within our household, with my parents marriage hitting rock bottom. Our home life was tense, and I was always put in the middle of their arguments. I was like Switzerland, although my new post-puberty chunk was making me feel like the entire European continent. My parents would communicate to me and through me, but not to each other.

You can eat all the bacon you want, my dad said, explaining the Atkins diet to me. Carbohydrates are the real demon!

In the midst of a midlife crisis, my dad had doubled down on his efforts to get rid of his slight paunch of a belly by exercising aggressively and increasing his intake of red meat. He held his wife and teenage daughter to his new standards of fitness.

So you only eat meat? I asked my dad, suddenly starting to analyze my teenage eating habits, which were whole and balanced, thanks to my moms healthy home-cooked meals. But I guess the carbohydrate doesnt fall far from the tree, because his intensity and focus made sense to me, and I was entranced.

Not just meatyou can eat dairy and vegetables, my dad said, apparently wanting a partner in this diet adventure he was about to tear his canines into.

Whats wrong with bread and fruit? I asked, aghast. No pasta?

Nope. He shook his head resolutely. They all make you fat.

With that one remark, I joined the ranks of other tortured souls on this lifelong, miserable path that is being obsessed with what you eat. I became consumed with counting carbohydrates, eating bacon, and, in general, not eating.

My new diet consisted of:

Breakfast: Black coffee and bacon

Mid-morning snack: Diet Coke

Lunch: A couple of bites of chicken breast and more Diet Coke

Afternoon snack: Coffee

Dinner: A few bites of steak and a tiny salad (no dressing!)

Late night snack: A spoonful of sugar-free Cool Whip

My mom was beside herself, furious that my dad had usurped her and was now dictating my eating plan.

Youre losing your cute butt, she said, analyzing my quickly shrinking frame after I had declined her offer of brown rice stir-fry, which I used to love. Your cheeks look gaunt, she said, shaking her head. Dont get obsessed, Kate!

Too late. I was the thinnest Id been in my teenage years, and my dad kept telling me I looked great!

Ironically, I had done an oral report on eating disorders in the eighth grade and had visited a treatment clinic to interview one of the counselors. I was actually very well informed about what I was doing psychologically with my Miraculous Disappearance of Kate project. I knew that I had become obsessed with food and my appearance in the mirror because they were the only things I could control in my crumbling family life. I knew this, but it didnt make me stop.