Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Of course the $15-$40 pieces don't look full on high fashion, that's not really possible. And there are some shit-tastic mistakes and a few pieces that look more like plain old Target than Thakoon for target. But several of the items (see above, ignore offensively Target-y posing and styling) could be easily mixed with more expensive pieces for a deceptively designer look.
Update: I published the above and realized that I'm still bored and have nothing to do. So below is one of the aforementioned designer looks. I photoshopped the shit out of the skirt and some netaporter stuff in the hopes of making it all fit together. Please forgive the schoolmarm-like pearshapedness. And the fact that Blogger refuses to allow me to put the text next to the picture so there's a whole lot of obnoxious white space:
And I'm not the only one. This glam rendition of dorky days gone by has garnered Mead's quirky jewelry collection some love from the likes of Elle, Lucky and New York Mag. Pick up the $200 silver version at Verse Chicago (773.486.4434) and let the world know that you're a dork and you're proud.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Bonus: One big fashion mag is catching on to Christensen's cougar appeal though, featuring her in an upcoming editorial shoot with one of the Gossip Girl man whores. She looks a little rough in those Terry Richardson shots, too.
"I'm definitely devoting myself to saving and adopting more animals," she says. (Probably in a painfully earnest voice.) "I will be on a crusade to do as much as I can. Yes, I can only imagine how crowded my house will be by 2010!"
Courtesy of Refinery 29, I can rest in peace knowing that this humanitarian/model/"designer" will be championing the animal cause in '09. Check out more resolutions from the "Fashion Flock," here and feel just a tad superior about being considerably less retarded than most of said flock.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Having written this, I guess the points I'm trying to make are a) I'm not an oblivious ass hole and b) i like disclaimers. Which isn't really a point, more a fact.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Simplistic though these four pillars may seem, they're the ultimate keys to sartorial success for those of you who've got man bits and confusedly believe that it's okay to house them in cotton boxers.
*These tips courtesy of Jim, whose dedication to the pillars is unwavering.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Please notice the purple arrow. Modern medicine has advanced to the point where sophisticated marking devices and medical hieroglyphics are used to draw attention to the area where the cutting should happen. While this technically doesn't have anything to do with clothes, it does look pretty damn badass so yeah, drink it in.
Christmas is a time for family and cheer and pondering the birth of our sweet lord and savior, Baby Jesus. But more important than all of these things is the feeling I get after a long day of relatives and gift opening: a crack rush at the thought of the sales to come.
My brothers, silly fools that they are, are still inspecting their haul, trying on shirts and counting money. Apparently they fail to realize that it's midnight-ish in Chicago and wiser clothes whores are already Sak.com-ing. So let them organazie waffle weave t-shirts and cashmere sweaters, I'm trolling for 75% off Louboutins and Chloe jackets, itching for my next fix.
There was some confusion on the part of a few family members who thought my semi-crippled status would keep me from attending the revered Saks sale at 8.30. It's sad to see that, 20 years in, they still don't know me at all. The very thought of doing some online manic-purchasing and calling it a day is unacceptable even in this drug-induced state of calm resignation.
You see, this early am e-shopping is a shopaholic's version of pre-gaming: it leaves me ready for the extreme binging to come but not incapacititated and lying in a puddle of my own sick. That'll happen tomorrow.
A sick nasty combination of finals and ankle surgery kept me from writing obsessively about shoes and bags and ugly people and oh how I missed it! Though I'm still fairly drugged and find myself falling asleep almost every time I sit down, the drool is pretty minimal at this point and that can only mean one thing: it's time for the lull in postings to come to an end, my lovely readers.
*Please enjoy the above picture of me in the hospital. Well, someone in the hospital. I'm actually a lot less asian and also way cuter. I can say that cause I'm high on vicodin.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
-Almost anything from PHI FW '09
-Gretchen Corset from Agent Provocateur
-Something, anything, red by Herve Leger
That doesn't mean that Ellen DeGeneres is Cover Girl material. She looks alright in a pantsuit-wearing kinda way, but certainly not exemplary. The whole thing is confusing.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
The Cut posted pics from a spread in British Vogue (December) and yeah, they're amazing. I'm not quite sure when it happened, but London's cool again as far as fashion is concerned and what a pleasant surprise it is. From Giles to Hussein Chalayan, I'd do some pretty unforgivable shit for a piece of that action.
I'm well on my way to becoming a "certified pathetic cripple." While I'd like to say that a skydiving accident will do me in, the fact of the matter is that I'm really just not that cool. No, I'm not going down in a blaze of glory, it's just a bit of surgery that'll leave me casted up and using, no joke, a "knee scooter."
"Oh my, what is that strange-sounding device?" you ask? Well, it's like the edgy sibling in the old folk transportation aid family, complete with pivoting power, hand brakes and a wire basket perfectly sized for holding all my diabetes meds. It's essentially a walker but half the width and ten times the awesome. This thing will allow me to scoot pathetically rather than crutching pathetically. Sweet.
But now that I've resigned myself to the immenent embararssingness of my situation, the important sarotrial questions are creeping up: three wheels or four? What color? Will I be able to wear a stiletto comfortably on my left foot?
Monday, December 8, 2008
So when my parents refused to get me a plane ticket to Big Sky before Christmas, I decided to flip a shit in the most passive aggressive [juvenile] way possible.
Though I've wanted to dye a blue or purple streak in my hair for a while now, I abstained out of deference to my mother, who'd immediately assume I'd also taken up crack and street-whoring as well. Not anymore, woman. Conveniently enough, one of my clients gave me clip in purple highlights a few weeks back for some reason. So I started the whole charade by sending my dad the picture above, to which he responded: "who is that wine guzzling skank? Blerg." Thanks dad.
He gave himself away in a call a few minutes later though, barely able to hide the panic in his voice as he asked me to confirm that the whole thing was a joke. "You're not going to come home and let your mom see you like that, are you?" he asked, acting as though I'd done something truly heinous, like gaining weight.
Though I, ready to give the whole thing up, admitted that the purple streak was a fake, I realized that I was having too much fun listening to the underlying panic. So I bought some blue hair dye and went at it.
Then comes the part where I decide that, despite my current oh-so-highschool behavior, I'm a calm adult and I should get the fuck over the panic. So I do. And I'm excited and I'm totally ready to, as the dye box prompts, "Be shocking! Be extreme!" The writing, superimposed over the face and royal blue locks of a really awesome punk (read "dumbass"), tells me that the possibilities are endless. And I believe it.
The thing is, my hair is really dark. Almost black, actually. And I didn't bleach the strip beforehand, the hope being that the color would cling subtly (but still badass). Not so much. There's literally not even the slightest visible difference in my hair pre-dye and post-dye.
But the bathroom sink has taken on a bluish tinge, so I suppose that's something.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
But it's also so damn cute that its nonsensibility becomes irrelevant. With a surprisingly cheerful background track playing and minimal interference from Posh-- no, I will not call her Victoria-- herself, the whole thing's a fairly pleasant surprise. In fact, it only gets batshit around the minute mark when the animal masks and sweaters come out.
But that passes quickly enough and we return to the super-cuteness of models running about in skintight dresses but still managing to look like little girls rather than skanky coke whores.
The rumor that Carine Roitfeld, Paris Vogue's bushy-eyebrowed, black-wearing editor in chief is in talks about dethroning everyone's favorite Bitch as EIC of Vogue US has been circulating for a while. Speculation as to whether or not such a move would lead Wintour to eat Roitfeld's soul has been similarly rampant and unsubstantiated. Gawker's fairly convinced-- and pissed-- that the the switch is coming though so it's time for me to pointlessly list the reasons why Roitfeld would be a welcome change:
1) Wintour is cunty as hell and not so cute.
The haircut was quirky at first but the fact that she's turned that unflattering bob into her "thing" is just perplexing. It makes her look like a turtle.
Roitfeld's not gorgeous or anything but she's certainly cultivated a cooler look, rocking Balmain frequently like any baller would.
2) Roitfeld's daughter is better than Wintour's.
Yeah, I'm bringing family into this one, it's that serious. The thing is, I'm sick of seeing Bee Schaffer sitting front row reading in an attempt to look super intelligent and above the whole fashion thing. If that were actually the case, she wouldn't be with mommy dearest at Marc Jacobs every year.
Julia Roitfeld on the other hand, is like mini Carine, which is adorable (if slightly unnerving).
3) Vogue's been sucking it up lately.
First came the several truly crappy covers (Keira Knightley looking wardrobe-challenged in September, Jennifer Aniston looking, well, as useless as she acts, etc.). Followed by the recent folding of Men's Vogue, one of mommy Wintour's little projects, and things aren't looking great for Anna. This is a woman who makes 2million a year on top of the drool-worthy amount of free clothing and travel, she's not pulling her diminutive weight.
4) French Vogue is much more badass that US Vogue.
Just because Vogue's a mainstream fashion magazine doesn't mean that it needs to be safe and predictable. En France there's more conceptual content and cooler covers because they generally use models instead of boring old Jennifer Anniston(Vanessa Paradis in that red skull cap? awesome). Plus, every now and again you get a little nip.