Lifestyle
Beloved 'Russian spy whale' Hvaldimir is found dead under mysterious circumstances
Hvaldimir, a beloved whale believed to have escaped a past life as a Russian spy, was found dead over the weekend in what animal rights organizations say were unnatural circumstances.
The beluga — whose name combines the Norwegian word for whale (hval) and Russian President Vladimir Putin’s first name — rose to international prominence after he was discovered by fishermen off the coast of Norway in 2019 wearing a camera harness that read “Equipment St. Petersburg.”
Theories about his mysterious past sparked headlines and intrigue, but it was his friendly demeanor that won him scores of admirers in the years that followed.
Hvaldimir worked his way along the Norwegian coast, frequenting fish farms and actively seeking out human interaction in the process. He was “very interested in people and responded to hand signals,” according to the nonprofit Marine Mind.
The gentle giant, who measured some 13 feet long and weighed about 2,000 pounds, even went viral several times: for retrieving a kayaker’s dropped GoPro camera, playing fetch with a rugby ball and playing with an underwater drone.
But Hvaldimir’s encounters with people weren’t always positive. He bore scars from being hit by multiple boats, and experts warned that he faced lower odds of survival as a “solitary sociable individual.” Concerns grew when he was spotted last year in Sweden, which has more people and fewer fish than Norway.
Hvaldimir’s case inspired the work of at least two nonprofits dedicated to marine conservation and Hvaldimir’s protection specifically.
OneWhale, founded in 2019, advocated for Hvaldimir’s protection from “tourism and other dangers.” Other marine biologists, concerned about the impact of relocating the whale, formed Marine Mind, which tracked Hvaldimir’s movements but also focuses on raising awareness about marine species more broadly. NPR has reached out to both organizations for comment.
With the permission of Norway’s government, OneWhale was actively working to relocate Hvaldimir to a wild beluga population in the Arctic, where belugas are normally found. The organization had recently announced plans to transport him in the coming weeks.
But hopes for Hvaldimir’s safety were dashed on Saturday, when he was found dead in what OneWhale called the “heavily trafficked waters just outside of Stavanger, Norway.”
“This morning, after receiving a sighting report from a local, our team arrived to find Hvaldimir floating peacefully in the water,” Marine Mind announced on Instagram. “It is not [immediately] clear what caused his death, a necropsy will be conducted to determine his early passing.”
Hvaldimir was believed to be between 14 and 15 years old when he died. The average lifespan for a beluga whale is upwards of 30.
The Norwegian Veterinary Institute will conduct the necropsy — an autopsy for animals — and release the results in “two or three weeks,” the Norwegian Directorate of Fisheries said in a statement to People.
In the meantime, theories and tributes are flooding social media.
Many questions remain about Hvaldimir’s life and death
OneWhale said in its announcement that it suspects Hvaldimir’s passing “was not a natural death.”
In a series of video messages later posted to Instagram, founder Regina Haug referenced “holes pouring with blood from his body” and said that out of a team of marine biologists and veterinarians who had looked at pictures of Hvaldimir’s injuries, “not one of them believe that Hvaldimir died of natural causes.”
“We got to visit Hvaldimir today ourselves and see him and say goodbye, and there was no question that he was dying from something very unnatural and heartbreaking,” she said tearfully, before casting blame on those who worked to “block his move” and spread misinformation about the extent of his injuries.
Sebastian Strand, the founder of Marine Mind, told AFP that there were no visible injuries on Hvaldimir’s body.
Strand also told the scuba diving publication Divernet that “we would prefer not to talk about human rifts in a time of mourning Hvaldimir,” adding that “people had different ideas of how to best safeguard him.”
“For now, we work toward a final dignity of making sure he is kept well and examined so his death will not be a mystery,” he added.
While authorities work to answer questions about Hvaldimir’s death, it’s likely much about his early life will remain a mystery.
It is widely believed that he escaped captivity in Russian waters. Many, pointing to the label on his camera harness and his responsiveness to humans, believe he was involved in espionage.
The Russian navy has been known to use marine mammals like whales and dolphins for intelligence purposes (the U.S. has a history of similar programs), though the Kremlin has never commented publicly on Hvaldimir.
Others theorize he was a missing Russian therapy whale named Seymon, who lived in an enclosure and sometimes performed for children with disabilities.
What’s certain is that Hvaldimir’s playfulness and resilience both amused and inspired many. Environmental groups say his story shed a light on the plight of beluga whales and, by extension, other marine species struggling to survive.
Marine Mind credits Hvaldimir with touching tens of thousands of lives over the last five years and bridging “the gap between humans and wild animals in a way that few can.”
“His presence taught us about the importance of ocean conservation, and in doing so, he also taught us more about ourselves,” it added.
Lifestyle
Check out the fashion as stars arrive at the 2024 Emmys red carpet
The 76th Primetime Emmys Awards are on Sunday night, hosted by father-son duo Eugene and Dan Levy, creators and stars of the hit TV series Schitt’s Creek. Nominees and stars hit the red carpet on Sunday evening outside of the Peacock Theater in Los Angeles. Here are some of their looks.
Lifestyle
Planeta and Wavey, two designers tapping into the shared language of L.A. and Mexico City
This story is part of Image’s September Image Makers issue, celebrating some of the most daring and innovative artists working in fashion today.
Eric Solis describes his photos as “cyberghetto,” “flow 2000s,” “raver chic.” Models wearing cargos layered with neon mesh shorts, stand among the rims at a car lot, using a purse inspired by one. Remixed plaid jorts. A durag with a blinged-out butterfly bikini top. Club kid platforms accessorized with ripped black tights. The concept: Moda sin fronteras. Solis, an L.A. native who now lives in Mexico City, where much of his family is from, wanted the photos to tell a story about the connection between two brands — L.A.-based Planeta and Mexico City-based Wavey — and in a larger sense, to “blur the lines between how people perceive what fashion is, or how it should look, in both the contexts of L.A. and Mexico.”
For Solis — a multi-hyphenate who works as an architect, event producer, photographer, art director and creative consultant, among other things — this project was an opportunity to capture the conversation he sees happening between Mexico City and L.A. in terms of fashion and style, in a way that felt expansive and not necessarily confined by gender or culture. The models themselves are young people who are mostly from Mexico City (or live there) spanning queer, trans and Indigenous communities that Solis met through fashion shows. The entire team — from the stylist Tuzza to the hair artist Ozmar Báez — was an intentional part of the conversation he was trying to create through the clothes and photos, he says.
Solis was thinking about the dichotomy of the two communities in L.A. and Mexico City, and at least in terms of style, how they were taking from each other and presenting it in new ways. He wanted to take what he was seeing and present it so that it wasn’t L.A. style, wasn’t Mexico City style, but was a hybrid of both.
The shoot acted as a catalyst for a pop-up called “No Hablamos Inglés” that Solis is curating on Sept. 21 at Planeta’s DTLA store. He is bringing the work of more than 20 emerging Mexican designers — spotlighting a scene of alternative, young, queer artists who are morphing how we think about Mexican style — including Palida Studios, Tlacuache Muerto and Resurrected. The name is important; for Solis it stands for cultural pride and community: “Sometimes, Mexicans on the Mexico side feel like they should learn English to better their lives or to be better in business, but this is almost like a saying of defiance. It’s almost rebellious: ‘No Hablamos Inglés.’”
This project is also Solis’ contribution to an ongoing conversation artists have been sparking between L.A. and Mexico for years, chief among them artist and curator Anita Herrera. From the beginning, Herrera has infused her practice with the mission of finding the connection and disconnections between L.A. and Mexico. Her ongoing series, “Diaspora Dialogues,” has consistently used fashion as a medium to explore these topics — as has much of Herrera’s work; she went to fashion school and started her career in the fashion industry.
Israel wears Wavey zig-zag top, bejeweled beanie, acid cargo pants, chrome fanny pack, Planeta neon mesh shorts, Tuzza custom reflector earring.
Solis met Herrera through helping with “Diaspora Dialogues” and met the founders of Planeta at one of Herrera’s exhibitions in Mexico City, “A Través de la Moda,” where she displayed personal pieces from her closet that drew from images and symbols that Mexican Americans hold dear — La Virgen de Guadalupe, the Aztec calendar — “as an exploration of history, myths and novelties between L.A. and Mexico City,” Herrera says. Planeta, founded by designers Hoza Rodriguez and Richard Resendez, has an IYKYK cult-like kind of status among the fashion people, artists and club kids who wear it. Their work is best recognized by the magic they do with upcycling — flannel shirts layered on top of baggy denim become a new genre entirely, something from the future. When they went to Mexico City for the exhibition and were able to see the city through the eyes of Solis and Herrera (Rodriguez and Herrera have been friends since 2009, when they were both starting their careers in the fashion industry), something clicked. “Everything’s unisex,” Rodriguez says of the style he observed in Mexico. “And I learned that they are not influenced by us, we are influenced by them.”
Wavey, a Mexico City brand and store founded by Talulah Rodriguez-Anderson in 2018, makes the kind of things you might wear at a rave on the beach. It’s always been dedicated to communicating its clothing as unisex. Rodriguez-Anderson grew up in L.A. and was inspired by her visual experiences and memories on both sides of the border when starting her brand. The brand’s store, in Colonia Juárez, carries this same energy, with its aesthetic drawing from the cargo trailers that go from Mexico City to the States. A Wavey piece borrows from Chicano silhouettes and images, told through a Mexican streetwear lens — the latter of which Rodriguez-Anderson says is “evolving very quickly.”
Solis wanted to highlight Planeta and Wavey because they felt like family in his mind — with a shared ethos, a look that felt like it was drawing from similar references. “To me, they’re like siblings, they’re like cousins,” Solis says. “They sort of talk to each other in terms of their style.” This is shown in the styling of one of the models, Jorge, who wears reworked checkered Dickies shorts from Planeta pointing to an early-2000s L.A. skater aesthetic, and a blinged-out shirt with the initials “MX” from Wavey as a nod to Mexico City. “It’s a new aesthetic,” Solis says. “It’s not California, it’s not quite Mexican. But it’s both, it’s something else.”
With the shoot, and with the pop-up, Solis says he wanted to show a “cross-section of Mexican youth, real Mexican youth.” He chose Colonia Juárez for the location, specifically an area that’s home to many auto body shops, because it felt true to where these looks would actually be worn. The environment and the clothes are in communion with each other, Solis says. “I also wanted to shoot it in a location that was authentically Mexican. Whereas I feel like La Condesa, or Roma, it can feel foreign, almost.”
“For me, that shoot, when I look at it, it brings some sort of happiness and some sort of truth of who we are as Latinos, as the LGBTQ community, and as human beings,” says Planeta co-founder Rodriguez, also the founder of L.A. brand Hologram City. “When I see that, it makes me happy to know what we really are: we’re talented, we’re creative, we look like superheroes, we’re the s—.”
Even as an architect, Solis has always worked in creative or community realms. He was on the team of designers for the 6th Street Bridge — and curated the art, photography and architecture exhibit “Nuestre Puente,” in collaboration with Estevan Oriol, in celebration of the bridge’s opening. He’s also one of the founders of the DTLA Proud festival. When he moved to Mexico City, he wanted to find a way to blend his obsession with fashion, art and culture, and embed himself into the creative community there as much as possible. Solis frequents Tianguis La Lagunilla once a month, which is where he says he came to really understand Mexico City’s fashion youth culture and meet some of the brands he’s bringing to L.A.
“Moving to Mexico City four years ago and really starting to understand by living here and building community here, [I realized] how our communities are not quite as connected as they could be because of those political, policy barriers that separate communities,” Solis says. “I have a whole circle of friends here in Mexico City that are artists, designers. They have their own brands, very integrated in the creative community here, and many, almost all of my friends who want to expose their brand or expose themselves as artists in the United States, they can’t — because they literally can’t go.” He wants to create connections for these Mexican designers, and allow the people of L.A. to experience their work. As a Mexican and U.S. citizen, Solis feels like he’s able to bridge the two sides — bringing Mexican designers to L.A. through their artistry, even if they’re not able to come here themselves.
The collection of designers that Solis is bringing to his L.A. pop-up this month conjures some key phrases for him: “It’s queer as in f— you.” “Barrio bratz.” “Sin género.” “Mexa-core.” The designers include Ese Chico, known for its irreverent graphic T-shirts and slogan: “Locura sin piedad,” or “madness without piety” — Herrera included it in her “A Través de la Moda” exhibition when she brought it to L.A. earlier this year. Another is Squid, a brand “inspired by nature” that transforms garments through upcycling, airbrush and screen printing into one-of-a-kind works of art. It was crucial for Solis that the pop-up captured this moment in Mexico City’s fashion scene, which he describes as “infinite.”
Jorge Líos of Palida Studios — a brand with a style Líos describes as a balance of elegance and deterioration — is a native of Nezahualcoyotl, an area about an hour outside of Mexico City. The spirit of Mexico City’s street-level fashion scene is a mix of “vulgar, atrevido y chido,” he says. “Como que la gente justo está desmitificando esta idea de que lo que debes de usar solamente son marcas gabachas y ya está volteando a ver marcas Mexicanas. Sobre todo, la escena está construyendo o reafirmando la identidad de ser Mexicano.” (That is, people are demystifying the idea that you should only use foreign brands and are turning to Mexican brands. The Mexico City scene is building up and reaffirming Mexican identity.) Since he was a kid, it was Líos’ dream to travel to L.A. or New York. He loves hip-hop and was inspired by the music culture in both cities. The fact that he is now traveling to L.A. through his designs and that they’re reaching a new audience that might be moved by them? “Es una locura.”
The list of L.A.’s sister cities includes Salvador, Brazil; Busan, South Korea; Berlin; and, of course, Mexico City. For Solis, it’s more than just a connection or conversation: there are familial ties. “The shared passion through fashion is something that really connects us and really unites us,” he says. “I’ve begun to see how fashion can actually build an identity that is of neither place, but is of both places.”
Production Eric Solis
Models Axel, Ellie, Genesis, Israel, Jorge, Li
Makeup Beauty Dealers
Hair Ozmar Báez
Production assist Dennis Caasi
Lifestyle
'South Park' creators renovate a beloved restaurant, and find nostalgia is pricey
Maybe because most of us come from somewhere else, Americans just love replicas of foreign places — William Randolph Hearst’s faux European castle in San Simeon, Calif.; Paris Las Vegas with its half-size Eiffel Tower and mini Louvre; or the mock Alpine village you find in, of all places, Helen, Ga. Creating a giddy atmosphere that Umberto Eco dubbed “hyperreality,” such crazily ambitious simulacra fill nearly everyone with childish delight.
This includes Trey Parker and Matt Stone of South Park and The Book of Mormon fame. Although notorious for their cynical humor, both harbor a profound affection for one of the places they adored as kids: Casa Bonita, a 50,000 square foot attraction in a Lakewood, Colo., strip mall that has been dubbed the Disneyland of Mexican restaurants. It’s an Anglo businessman’s fantastical riff on an old Mexican village, one decked out with Old West outlaws, volcanoes, cliff divers and even a gorilla that runs through caverns studded with stalactites.
More than half a century after opening in 1974 — complete with TV ads featuring Ricardo Montalban! — this once-spectacular crowd-puller had fallen on such desperate times that it was doomed to close. Then it was bought out of bankruptcy “as is” by Stone and Parker, who vowed to save the beloved Colorado landmark and return it to its former glory.
Their battle to do so is the subject of the enjoyable new documentary ¡Casa Bonita, Mi Amor! Directed by Arthur Bradford and produced by MTV Documentary Films, the movie’s a treat, weaving together great archival footage, excerpts from South Park and Elvis’ movie Fun in Acapulco, plus countless scenes of Parker and Stone’s amused horror when they hear the latest reason why their labor of love is becoming a money-pit.
After a zippy capsule history of Casa Bonita, with its Pepto-Bismol-pink facade and blue fountain out front, the movie returns to the present to show everything it takes to recreate a mecca whose true meaning lay in the feelings it once induced. Because the original Casa Bonita was legendary for lousy food, they bring on an executive chef, Dana Rodriguez, who’s been nominated for James Beard Awards. She takes Parker to Oaxaca so he can soak up the atmosphere and get inspired.
Yet wondrous inspiration bumps into un-wondrous reality. Turns out that their new property is a dilapidated death trap in which everything — electricity, plumbing, air conditioning — must be redone. A renovation originally budgeted at $6 million suddenly balloons to a new estimate of $20 million plus.
Now, as ¡Casa Bonita Mi Amor! chronicles the high price of nostalgia, it also offers an offhand glimpse at one of pop culture’s signature creative teams. It doesn’t take long to spot the differences between the two longtime friends — Parker is clearly the dreamy, creative one; Stone the shrewd whetstone on which he sharpens his ideas. What you may find surprising is the secret sentimentality of guys whose comedy takes such pride in finding nothing sacred. Parker, in particular, betrays a sweetness in his romantic attachment to the innocent pleasures of childhood. He’s also a perfectionist. We see his artistic process, fussing over and tweaking every creative detail of the project.
As their crew desperately races to have everything perfect by opening day — spending even more millions along the way — it becomes clear that Parker and Stone are chasing a ghost or maybe a paradox. The original Casa Bonita was a 1970s inauthentic version of 19th-century Mexico, but to recapture its magic this new version can’t be the same Casa Bonita that Parker remembers so fondly. Just as Indiana Jones’ movies had to use top-drawer talent to emulate cheap, old movie serials, so their restaurant has to meet today’s expectations — tastier food, sharper entertainment — or visitors won’t find it as thrilling as the original. To feel the same, it has to be different.
By the time Casa Bonita finally reopens — there is a happy ending — Parker and Stone have done something that could hardly be more quintessentially American: They’ve spent a fortune to make a copy of a Mexican-themed restaurant that’s actually better than the original.
-
Politics1 week ago
Conservative economists pour cold water on Harris' new small-business tax proposal
-
World1 week ago
Voting under way in Algeria’s presidential election
-
News1 week ago
Cross-Tabs: September 2024 Times/Siena Poll of the Likely Electorate
-
News1 week ago
Dick Cheney's Reason for Endorsing Harris Over Trump
-
Politics1 week ago
Harris visits spice shop known for hating and slamming Republicans, calls for end of 'divisiveness'
-
World7 days ago
Researchers warn methane emissions ‘rising faster than ever’
-
Politics7 days ago
House honoring 13 US service members killed in 2021 Abbey Gate bombing during Afghanistan withdrawal
-
Politics7 days ago
Kamala Harris' new climate director said she is hesitant to have children because of climate change threats