Monday, November 24, 2008

"What are the white animals we can get and how much?!"

Shrieked one of the editors while loping towards the editor in chief's office less than gracefully in a pair of 4.5inch YSL black patent pumps. Apparently her assistant hadn't adequately researched the price of white tiger rental and shit was about to hit the fan at the place where I work but am contractually not allowed to write about.

What am I doing with my life that the price of white tiger rental is a legitimate concern? Who cares?

Friday, November 21, 2008 Getting a Tad Desperate, Making Models do Sports

I found this video pitting model/skateboarder Nicole against Al (the name, ha!), a bike messenger. The two race around the city using their respective modes of transport before arriving at their final stop, Industria Studios, Nicole inexplicably clad in a bra by the time she gets there.

Because models are just like us (but better): athletic, clever, quick, etc., Nicole won. Obviously. Poor Al, mediocre looking and a slow mover. Shucks.

Confused People Think Katie Holmes is Cool/Relevant

The Cut claims that Katie Holmes is probably the next Miu Miu campaign girl, prompting me, once again, to be highly confused by the fact that people apparently think Suri's mom matters. The thing is, she's not a good actor, she's a very average variety of pretty and, as evidenced by several bare-footed minutes in "All My Sons," she's got cankles.

Her casting in "All My Sons," was confusing-- she unintentionally comes across as silly and melodramatic-- but I'm over it because, while I like Arthur Miller, I wouldn't do unforgivable things in his name. Miu Miu is something of a different story. The upcoming collection is pretty great looking and quite a lot cooler than Mrs. Cruise.
Vanessa Paradis isn't my favorite person but she made total sense for Miu Miu's current campaign. Even Katie lovers would be hard pressed to say that she's a good choice for the quirky, artsy Prada off shoot. She's way too mommy and Cruise-y and chipper. Shut it down.

Thursday, November 20, 2008

Jailbird Couture

On your first day in prison, you have two choices: become someone's bitch or make someone scrawnier than yourself into your own. Simple really. Because the idea of being passed around for cigarettes and raped with foreign objects isn't super-attractive, the choice is clear.
So you go through the effort of shanking some hoes and instilling fear in many hearts, you're awarded a bitch and then come to the troubling realization that both you and your bitch are still wearing those fool ass orange jumpsuits totally unaccessorized or distressed. Dayum girul, get yo shit together.

Before I continue down this batshit crazy prison clothing path, let me explain my reasoning. Trevor came to visit yesterday, momentarily taking a break from the wilderness of Fentucky to get arrested with me. Okay, not really arrested. More like reprimanded and fined by two really small rent a cops. The details are unimportant aside from these: the guys were ass holes and someone-- I won't say who-- is going to hunt them down this weekend and pull out some nails with some pliers.

The brush with the law, minor though it was, got me thinking about the ass-nastiness of jail clothing and how much it would suck to have to wear that unattractive shade of orange baginess all the time. So here's what I'll do when I'm arrested for giving false information and not paying my fine: belt it cut it and unbutton real low. And those handcuffs? Stack them like bangles and they'll also double as the ideal accessory for keeping your pimp hand strong.

Ain't no one gonna' fuck with a prisoner in a prison suit so sweet as that.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008


I'm obsessed with Google Analytics. It's the second thing I look at after I wake up every morning (the first being my phone because waking up to texts/emails makes me feel super popular). Analytics tracks blog traffic, breaks down the site into its most popular sections, tells you where readers are coming from geographically and provides readership blood samples. Kidding. For now.

But really, it's weird as hell to look at the little map breakdown and see that three people from Nice, France have somehow stumbled upon this compilation of my early am skirt talk. I'd say small world but it sounds too cheesy.

Anyway, to those of you whom (god, "whom" sounds douchey even when it's gramatically correct) I don't know, hey. I'm Lily and I'll be 20 next week and I think a lot-- perhaps too much-- about clothes and shoes and bags and I'm perpetually overdressed and this is my blog and I look more or less like this:

Gossip Girl Clothing Disappoints, Leads to Vomit Once Again

My clothes talking has been rather sporadic lately, my bad. Due to a noxious combination of over-scheduling and a general lack of desire to do anything other than cocoon myself under two comforters watching past seasons of 30 Rock in my free time-- not weird, by the way-- I've neglected the more important things in life. But tonight I was inspired once again to return to the ever important task of obsessing over purses and making bitchy comments about other peoples' clothing.

So let's get to it:

Serena looked awkwardly proportioned and generally unattractive in her Thanksgiving day outfit. The skirt was far too short and the shirt was reminiscent of those really cheap pinneys we all wore in grade school gym class. Blake Lively's not particularly gorgeous but she's not an ickly looking girl and yet she looked like an unusually peppy streetwalker and the outfit made her already-lame attempts at seriousness even less believable.

Apple's done this clever thing by not allowing screen shots while iTunes videos are playing so I can't post a picture of the red and yellow silky hideousness or the accompanying white fishnets so you'll just have to trust my gag reflex on this one.

I should think less about Gossip Girl. Major character flaw.

Friday, November 14, 2008

If That's What You're Into

I was with Scott Schuman (The Sartorialist) today picking out clothes for a shoot for Italian Glamour. Rifling through the two huge suitcases of stuff they sent him-- mostly ass ugly, actually-- we got to talking about "style inspiration." Being a bit all over the place in my daily dressing, I came to the conclusion that I can't really pintpoint a single style inspiration. Just as I was starting to feel really cocky about my imagined one of a kindness, I found the rotund, giraffe-loving individual above and realized that she's it.

Yeah I cut my hair short a couple years ago and yeah I thought it was of my own volition. But staring at her, I know the real inspiration. I sometimes wear my glasses and, though it's not often, I now realize that I've been subconsciously trying to emulate giraffe woman but probably can't handle the awesomeness all the time. All I really need is that t-shirt. Anyone know where I can find it?

Thursday, November 13, 2008

They. Are. Mine.

I woke up depressingly early this morning so as to get my usual bitchly work out in before going to the Valentino sale before going to work before going to class before probably killing myself. On the Subway there, looking a little bit worse for wear, the possibility that the whole waking up way too early thing had all been for naught became apparent. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," was running through my head as I sat there making the sort of grimace that that comes standard with four hours of sleep. By the time I arrived at 33rd and 8th, I was pissed as hell that I'd woken up early, taken the subway two whole stops and wasn't even going to find the aforementioned laser cut booties that have been haunting my dreams.

Well mom, rejoice because I think I've found jesus again. Running a little too quickly-- less dedicated shoppers stared a bit as my tote threatened to knock them over-- I found the size 37 shoes and there they were, peeking out of a half closed box, literally insisting that I buy them for 70% off. So I did. And they're amazing looking and I'm wearing them now and we're so happy together. Will post family pictures later.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Figners Crossed for a Gift From the Bootie Gods

Now that the title of this post has (hopefully) conjured to mind images of me sitting on the hood of a Ferarri, surrounded by big booty backup dancers shaking their junk in my face, forget all of that and focus on more important things: my shoes. There are these laser-cut suede Valentino Booties-- as in shoes, not skanks-- that I need desperately.

We met for the first time at Intermix, me wandering aimlessly, them staring haughtily, $945 price tag a little too prominent. Then we ran into each other again on where, humbled by the 40% sale, they beckoned invitingly, attempting to ensnare me. But, as a newly fiscal child of the recession, I'm not doing it. (By that I mean that my ankle's messed up, I can rarely wear heels these days and otherwise I'd make the irresponsible purchase in heart beat).

But all hope is not lost because the Valentino sample sale starts tomorrow and I got lucky last year, coming away with a pair of $700 patent mary janes with a python flower for a mere $75. The benefits of having midget feet may pay off once again...

Saturday, November 8, 2008

Marion Cotillard Hot, Dior Bag She's Advertising Not

The Dior ads starring Marion Cotillard (of La Vie en Rose Oscar fame) have been released and she looks damn good. Her legs are sexy but not spindly, the shoes are strappy in a classy dominatrix sort of way and the airy skirt/plunging blazer combo is surprisingly wearable and cool. And she looks like herself, semi-messy hair and all. But what's with that bag? It's the most useless incarnation of the quilted collection that just won't die and it cheapens the otherwise cool shot. Every time I see it I'm forcibly reminded of the crappy little pleather purse that I toted around for a year straight when I was too young and stupid to know better.

Mama's Got a Brand New Bag

The YSL Besace messnger bag that I've been obsessing over for a couple weeks now was just marked down to 40% off on No idea why, but black is the only color on sale so I'm taking it as a sign from the almighty that i'm meant to roughly jam my laptop into the leathery goodness of Yves Sant Laurent rather than my 8 year old Prada Nylon contraption. Plus, it's the perfect size for school books so buying it is basically just "investing in my education."