I'm Moving (To Another Website)

Because my blog-maintaining skills have been shameful of late, I'm moving to True/Slant.com where they'll pay me to do a better version of what I do here. I like the insane level of clothing obsession that's happened on LilyQTalksClothes but clearly require incentive to do it regularly, I think it'll be a good move. Very little will change aside from the URL. Once you're on the site, my page will look a lot like an individual blog, minus the bitchin header.

Check out MY FIRST POST, tell me what you think in the comments. And visit trueslant.com/lilyq frequently because I need hits and comments if I want to keep the job. (Have I mentioned how good you all look today? You totally do.)

Christian Audigier To Show At Paris Fashion Week. I Vomit.

Christian Audigier, purveyor of all things rhinestone-encrusted and hideously illustrated, is planning to show at Spring 2010 Fashion Week in Paris this Fall. This is the guy who designs for the likes of Ed Hardy, usually shows his creations at L.A. or Miami Swim Fashion Week, and likely clothed the greasy dudes who were grinding all up on you at the club last weekend. So while designers like Christian Lacroix struggle with bankruptcy, Christian Audigier is zeroing in on their legitimate fashion turf with his truly illegitimate "designs." This makes me sad. [The Cut]

*Originally published on The Frisky.

WWWD Man Issue On Stand Now (By Which I mean Online)

Know what 54 year old designer Donna Karan loves? "Music, DJin, dancing, partys going out!" She's also a fan of "just having a laugh and having it easy no worries!" Or so says the most recent issue of Women's Wear Daily parody WWWD.

In their Man Issue, released this week, WWWD delves into deep issues ranging from the size of Shia LaBeouf's package ("beyond inadequate," for the record) to whether or not rappers Pharell Williams and Kanye West are super into each other in the biblical sense.

It's questions like these, my friends, that need answering as the financial markets crash around us and the recent loss of your job forces you to trade in your apartment for an abandoned refrigerator box, stealing a wireless signal just to access some free internet porn.

A few of my favorite moments from The Man Issue:

• "Today's Obsession: Knives!"- Apparently it's "time to get knife happy." Upon reading this, I deemed it time to start carrying a variety of throwing knives in pockets, purses and thigh holsters. It's getting very Mr. and Mrs. Smith up in here.
• In depth WWWD coverage of Men's Fashion Week in Paris and Milan gave us an insider's look at the shows and the festivities. Lanvin designer Alber Elbaz "was credited with "getting the party started" by arriving fully nude." And we never would have known.
• Dakota Fanning, two year old start of various films, likes it when men get rough with her. (Okay, she's 15. And she didn't actually say that. Whatever.)

*Originally published on The Frisky. But with fewer naughty words.

Gun Chic

Because my iPhone is flashless and damn near dead (probably due to repeated dropping and one particularly gruesome fall into a puddle), the above picture is a bit unclear. Here's what it is: a gun in my friend Will's pants. When I say gun, I really mean "gun' in that it was rubber spray painted black more than, you know, a real weapon. But the badassness is still there provided that you squint hard enough. And are a tad tipsy.

In any event, this Gun As Accessory maneuver is the latest in a series of things that have left me convinced that I need to add some firearms to my wardrobe. I did a little spraypainting myself a couple halloweens ago and came away with the machine gun below. But that much pseudo-power proved overwhelming for someone like me and, before I knew it, I was attempting to gun down even the lowliest of falafel sandwiches (pictured).
I'm thinking something more along the lines of a pistol or a revolver would suit me.

Michael Phelps Has A Perv Moustache

What's with Michael Phelps' new and ongoing dedication to perv-y looking facial hair? Over the last few weeks, he's been sporting everything from a moustache/beard combo (above) to a soul patch and, most recently, a total porn star 'stache. The new fu manchu-esque moustache is so perplexing that Daily Intel has put together a slide show allowing you to study from various angles, wet dry, under water and above it. Yet somehow, 12 pictures later, the reasoning behind the face pubes remains as mystifyingly opaque as ever.

Doodled All Over That Shiz

My Doodle Bra finally arrived at the office today after weeks of waiting. Weeks during which I could scarcely think of anything else, so absorbed was I in intricate fantasies about all the ways my life would improve when the color and wash bra arrived and we became inseparable.

For example, I'd be wearing the thing in a rain storm on the way home from work on my bike and my white shirt would be soaked all the way through, Doodle Marker colors seeping into the fabric. Then, as I'm arduously pedaling through the gale-force winds, tired but not beaten, a lovely fellow in an Aston Martin will pull up next to me at a stop light. Looking over, he'll be sure that my chesticles are emitting all the colors of the rainbow. "Gee, I've never seen a girl like that before!" he'll think. "Maybe there is such a thing as love, maybe there are magical boobs, maybe that wet but still lovely girl and her adorable retro-looking bike should spend the rest of their lives with me..."

All of this happens, of course, in the course of two seconds, after which he rescues me from the rain in a way that totally wouldn't freak me out. We'd then live happily ever after and he'd be cool with the fact that I don't want kids or puppies and I'm not always that nice.
Anyway, I digress. The points is this: the Doodle Bra came, Lucie and I doodled on it, and it is a fabulous mess of the best possible variety. Things started off well when I realized that the 34D is more the size of a training bra than a grown up lady one. From there though, it was all uphill, a true example of wholesome, boob-related fun for the whole family.
Now, emblazoned with hearts, rainbows and all sorts of other really gay things, my Doodle Bra is ready and waiting for the day I have a mistake of a daughter and am feeling maternal.(My face is doing that because the Doodle Bra is cutting off all circulation to my chest and also I'm quirky. Cute, right?)

Something Terrible Has Happened

I have one swimsuit top that fits, does not look hooker-esque and makes me relatively happy. It is missing. I am inclined to believe that it has been kidnapped. I am now forced to soak up skin cancer on my roof in a bra. It is highly inappropriate and behavior unbecoming of a lady. Blerg.

*Please see photographic evidence of former relative happiness above. Yes, it looks like I'm crying, but that's only because I had just been nearly eaten by a shark. If I'd been wearing a bra at the time, I'm sure it would have gotten my leg.

Time To Man Up

I've been wearing flats all the time of late. I gave up on the whole "supportive shoe" initiative a while back but continued to wear flats as a sort of compromise. A compromise with myself, I guess: "Lily, if you wear flats, maybe that pulsing pain from foot to hip and ensuing grandma hobble will go away."

Anyway, not the point. The point is this: fuck flats. I started wearing heels again once last week and again today and, while there is a bit of a throbbing in the aforementioned ankle, being taller than pretty much everyone is a decent trade. I'm going to consider the pain a sign that I'm manning up in the ankle region, as opposed to fucking up in the life region.

"Smart Memory Bra" Tries Waaay Too Hard

The "Smart Memory Bra" is made of heat-sensitive foam that inflates and deflates based on body temperature. What this means: when you (and your chest) get all hot and bothered, this bra will inflate to push the girls up and out. The company that's making it claims the Smart Bra is inspired by fit, that "it's healthier than a normal bra because it will always provide the perfect fit." Really though, it has only one advantage over a regular bra, and it's not the fit; it will give you hooker boobs when someone's about to jump your bones.

Cut Your Hair

My hair is finally growing out. Almost touches my shoulders, in fact. Though this may not sound like much of a feet, it's the longest it's been in more than four years and all this length is kind of confusing. Like what am I supposed to do with those inches? Does it just hang there, do I put it up and, if so, ballerina style and severe or messy like a semi-drunk college girl? Anyway, not the point.

The point is this: every girl should have really short hair at some point in her life, preferably for a good chunk of her later formative years. You know, after the early teens when one bad hair day will send you into an emotional shit fit but before you're 20 and about as much of a person as you're going to be.

I say this because of Shenae Grimes of melodramatic 90210 fame. (And don't worry, I'm properly embarrassed about basing anything on Shenae Grimes.) But she was on People's 100 Most Beautiful People issue this year and said something about her hair being a security blanket. Except that she used phrases like "on top of the world" to express this sentiment, blech. Anyway, her hair is her security blanket and I think hair functions in that way for quite a lot of girls.

Having hair short enough to be called dykey when I wore sweatpants was sometimes obnoxious, but it made me get used to my face really quickly. Before I cut it, that stuff hit below my shoulder blades and was all straight and shiney. If I looked like ass, it was easy to hide behind it. When I hacked off a foot-- and then pretty much everthing but and inch or two--shielding the periodic nastiness with my hair became a lot more difficult. (By which I mean impossible.)

It kind of sucked then, but I'm glad of it now because a bad hair day isn't enough to freak me out. I can just pull it back and act like it doesn't exists, I know what I'll find underneath and can deal, even if I'm looking cracked out. It happens.

*This wasn't intended to be a Lessons I've Learned sort of thing, though it admittedly reads that way. My bad.

Exactly What Happens When Guys Go Shopping

Things I Want But Won't Buy For Summer

Blogger sucks so the picture is blurry. It won't be if you click on it. And clothes porn is best viewed in full detail.

Poor Ginnifer Goodwin Tried To Be Hot and Fashion-y in W and Failed

The spread is subtly titled "Not So Goodwin," and that seems to apply more to Ginnifer's attempt at badassness than Ginnifer Goodwin in general. Apparently the actress wanted us to forget everything we think we know about the sweet and bubbly her. Unfortunately, though she doesn't specify what she'd like us to think instead, one can surmise that she'd rather be considered a poor man's Madonna.

Given that Madonna already is a poor man's Madonna these days, the layers of confusion of Goodwin's persona choice in her W shoot are numerous.

It's not just the 80s Madge style that she's wearing, but also the young, South American man that she seems to have drugged and is, in the picture above, preparing her way with. Jesus Luz, anyone? And I love the other vested biker boy. He's looking at her all pissed like "why'd you roofie my boyfriend Ginnifer, he's just not that into you." She, of course, is turning around to be all like "wait, did he tell you that?"

Check out the rest of the shots here and don't get pissed at me for the fact that Goodwin is generally pantless with a little muffin top going on. You've been warned.

The Trench Coat Dilemma

This month's Esquire just came out on newsstands and the cover is Megan Fox looking all Mr. and Mrs. Smith in a trench and underwear. It's damn hot (and so is the video of the shoot). The outfit--a classic Burberry trench from the looks of it--draws to mind those nights of surprising gentleman friends with similar get ups. Such evenings often lead to very good, umm, conversation. Or so I've been told. Whatever.

So I'm all excited about summer and even gave swimsuit shopping a failure of a go this morning (more on this later...), but imagine my dismay upon realizing that Summer's impending heat will pretty much squash all hope of trench-coated surprises. Women everywhere are mere weeks, maybe even days, away from losing the ability to wear this tried and true late night visit outfit.
There is, it seems, a major hole in the covertly-slutty-midnight-clothing market during the warm months.

So what now?

Showing up at his door in straight up underwear is skanky. And I'm pretty sure that leaving the house that way is officially frowned upon by the law. I momentarily considered my sheer organza trench from last spring as a light weight alternative. But while it remains pretty, a see through coat doesn't really solve the going outside naked problem.

I'm not prepared to call this a full-on wardrobe crisis-- we're more at threat level yellow right now--but I'm upgrading it from "something to consider" to a legitimate "issue." Yes, I handle my wardrobe problems much like they're homeland security issues.

"Inside the Chanel Fitting Room" So Fucking Weird

Everyone from The Cut to Refinery 29 is linking to the Chanel fitting room video with Lara Stone like it's a gift from God. Aside from the shoe porn and a pretty awesome bejeweled shirt, I don't get what the big deal is. The whole thing's actually kind of creepy, and not in a particularly good way. From Lara's borderline invisible eyebrows to Karl sounding like a pervy director in the background and sad little attempts at playing rough between Lara and her man toy model friend, the whole thing feels far too forced.