Hitchcock trench by Gryphon
$590 at activeendeavors.com
31 March 2007
Gun show chic
Twice a year the Dulles expo opens its doors to hundreds of vendors and thousands of patrons who love nothing more than gettin' their guns-n-ammo on at the Nation's Gun Show in pure, unadulterated red state style.
And tomorrow, I will join their ranks. Again.
Assuming I don't get a cross-bow in the thigh or .22 in the ass for throwing one too many "you're not really wearing that, are you?" stares, expect a full fashion rundown tomorrow afternoon.
I'm still undecided whether to go with...
outfit #1: orange Britney "Dream Within a Dream Tour" tee, denim cutoffs (with exposed pockets a-la Miss Spears) and a pair of cowgirl boots straight from Tener's, my childhood home away from home
OR
outfit #2: purple Britney "Onyx Hotel Tour" muscle tee (self-cut sleeves), Army Special Forces tapered sweatpants and laceless high-tops
Whichever I go with, to be true to the trailer hick I like to pretend I was growing up in the OK - like the OC but poorer, fatter and more polite - I'll be sure to paint my face with frosted pastels, pin my hair back with a couple of plastic Hello Kitty barrettes and ignore entirely the concept of verb conjugation.
Yee-haw, y'all!
No such thing as a power wedge
Power heel? Yes.
Power evening sandal? Definitely.
Power running shoe? For sure - I own two pairs.
But a power wedge?
In the abstract, the thought of someone trying to pass off what is in my opinion a lazy heel as a shoe that commands authority seems at best antithetical, at worst ignorant.
Last night, after seeing a woman outside Rosa Mexicana in Penn Quarter attempt just this in a flawlessly-fitted gray pinstripe skirt suit and ivory silk button-up with a wide patent leather headband, black seamless leather briefcase and a pair of the fattest black round-toed wedges similar to these from Seychelles ($83.95 at zappos.com), I now know for a fact pairing a professionally powerful ensemble with gigantic training heels not only erodes a woman's femininity but her power projection as well. From the ankles up, this woman was the picture of a boardroom taskmaster who had just made the deal - and all the men involved in it - her bitch. From the ankles down, however, I thought I was coming face-to-face with the world's first orthopedic stripper shoe.
Call me ultra-traditional, but I will always opt for the shoe that makes my foot look its most delicate. Round-toe over pointy, peeptoe over closed, skinny heel over stacked, pump over boot, and barely-ther
e evening sandal over strappy. In my opinion, the wedge has the ultimate anti-delicate silhouette. They're clunky, they're heavy, and wearing them make you look as if you've just walked off the set of Velvet Goldmine.
e evening sandal over strappy. In my opinion, the wedge has the ultimate anti-delicate silhouette. They're clunky, they're heavy, and wearing them make you look as if you've just walked off the set of Velvet Goldmine.If you're a true believer in the wedge or you have too many pairs to let yourself quit the trend, at least do me the favor of keeping them to summer vacations and casual weekends only.
And never, absolutely never indulge in the Britney-favored wedge flip-flop/slide. There's just no excuse and no venue appropriate - especially in the District - for that multicolored foam mess.
30 March 2007
Strapless done well. *Really* well.
It's been a good two months since I last complained about the curious misconception the majority of women - most notably brides and sorority girls - are under that strapless is an equal-opportunity, universally flattering neckline.
For the sake of time and to avoid the sheer frustration of having to explain (again) why back fat and bean-bag upper arms aren't exactly assets to which you want to draw attention at a formal gathering, I won't take you through my analysis of why only a very small percentage of women can rock sweetheart-strapless and an even smaller percentage of that percentage can rock straight-edge-strapless.
No, instead I'll just gaze upon the strawberry satin strapless tea-length Peter Soronen dress with eye-catching asymmetric structured bustline, hue-matching cinch and pencil skirt bottom Hilary Swank wore last night to the L.A. premiere of her new thriller, The Reaping. Very similar in silhouette to Reese Witherspoon's lemon Nina Ricci frock at this year's Golden Globes, Hilary's dress fits just so in all the difficult regions, which is a feat not easily achieved when dealing with satin, especially in a lighter color.
Note how in the widest part of her tiny frame - her hips - there is neither bunching from a too-tight fit, nor unnecessary hanging from a too-loose one. The bunching you think you're seeing, as far as I can tell, is just that pesky and unavoidable wrinkle-age from the limo ride. At the neckline, the cut and thickness of the structured fabric allows the double Oscar winner's generous chest to look considerably smaller than the perfect C-cup we know is hiding under there.
When you're a lady like Hilary, you recognize that at a still-light-out event, it's much more appropriate to showcase the shoulders and back, not the ladies, ample as they may be.
As for the rest of her ensemble, I must say I'm a bit disappointed. I think her makeup is too washed out for her pale complexion; I think her hair looks sheen-depleted and the style poorly executed with errant fly-aways and not-sure-if-they're-meant-to-be-pulled-back-or-poofed-up bangs; I think her Manolo Blahnik patent leather buckled sandals ($585 at bergdorfgoodman.com) are too avant garde and too distracting for the simple, feminine cut of the dress; I think the Chopard necklace is okay but doesn't serve any real complementing purpose. It's just there - the hallmark of an unnecessary accessory.
And the belt. Not a fan of that, either. Her extremely formal, estate-sale-looking jewelry acts in contradiction to the modern casual nuance of the waist-cinch. It's confusing to the eye, and I'd have gotten rid of both. For shoes, I would have either gone a bit bronzer or stayed in the nude palette but since the dress is so simple, selected something with fewer, thinner straps and unique adornments or cut-outs like these other Manolos.
Aside from the dress itself, Hilary's sizable diamond studs and red and white mod minaudière are pretty much the only other components I'd give a positive nod.
Well, those and the unabashed admiration she shows herself in the first picture.
Money doesn't buy that kind of self-love. I should know.
Stiletto-ready short shorts
Though I pray this never happens, I fear the important someone in the fashion world whose job it is to point at trends and say, "yes," "no," and "only on Chloë Sevigny," is going to wake up one morning in the near future and realize she was wrong to have moved the dressy-short-shorts-and-heels look from the slutty pile to the sophisticated pile.
Because I know you're as fully invested in this trend as I am, I thought it was about time I provided for you a selection of dressy short shorts appropriate not so much for the office, dinner with your friend's parents or a Sunday brunch, but definitely for that Georgetown townhouse party where you know your former beau's new girlfriend (or current wife) will be in attendance.
I personally like wearing my short shorts and heels with a half-preppy, half-"awww, how cute" top like this button-up 'Little Nell' blouse with Mandarin collar, low slung side-sash and pouf cap-sleeves ($78 at anthropologie.com). And in terms of venue, I prefer to sashay this look among older crowds that still aren't privy to last spring's fashion memo that declared shorts-n-heels no longer limited to prostitutes and high-school skanks on their way to becoming prostitutes.
Older men feel like they're looking at something naughty, which in DC translates to an entire evening of "I'd love to get together for lunch sometime and pick your brain about, um...you know, China stuff" conversations.
Older women flat-out just want to kick your ass. The thing is, though, if you're bold enough to rock short shorts and they're in their predictable, full-coverage Eileen Fisher henley dress, they probably kinda sorta can't. And even if there was one who could take you out cleanly, it'd still be worth it -- you can't ever really be on top, after all, without agreeing to a title-fight.
And on that note, enjoy my favorite denim-and-khaki-free picks for this spring's best stiletto-ready dressy short shorts:
Top to bottom:
1. To the lighthouse shorts by Elevenses ($68 at anthropologie.com)
2. Pleated short by Adam + Eve ($265 at shopbop.com)
3. Loyola tweed short by Paul & Joe ($282 at shopbop.com)
4. Pleat front shorts by L.A.M.B. ($145 at shopbop.com)*
5. Shiny banded-cuff shorts ($68 at ardenb.com)
6. Silk shortalls by Twelfth Street ($252 at nordstrom.com)*
7. Polka dot shorts by Johnson ($253 at dazsign.com)
8. High waisted button shorts (£20 at topshop.com)
9. Stretch sateen shorts by James Coviello ($375 at saks.com)
10. Phoebe shorts ($19.80 at forever21.com)
11. Hammish shorts by Theory ($130 at scoopnyc.com)
12. Striped shorts by Joe’s Jeans ($152 at pinkmascara.com)
*your editrix's top picks
29 March 2007
That of which I am most proud
The 500th post.
As painstakingly difficult as self-congratulation is for me, I can't help but share with you the wee bit of pride I'm feeling upon reaching this milestone. Granted, embedded in the accomplishment of writing 500 posts in just over 3 months is the admission I have little or no social life, but even so, it feels pretty 'effing good, and you should at the very least give me golf claps for continually ripping apart - and occasionally building back up - the unfortunate looking women on and around the ConnAve/M Street intersection.
As I was deciding how best to celebrate number 500, I started thinking about the vast spectrum of all that which I have earned, stolen and been unfairly given based on my looks over the past 27 years. Where does this blog rank among these?
After much thought and a close call among learning Chinese, going without food or water while enduring two-a-day crew practices for three straight seasons and that which ended up at number five, here for you all is a peek into your editrix's self-absorbed soul:
Proudest achievement #5: Vidalia on M Street. That's really all I want to say about it.
Proudest achievement #4: My 200+ collection of purchased-in-China action movies. I have every Van Damme, Seagal, Stallone, Snipes, Schwarzenegger, Willis and Lundgren movie ever made. Even the rare straight-to-DVD ones like The Last Patrol and Today You Die. And the best part is, if I ever want to watch any of them with Chinese voice-overs, Thai subtitles or Chinese voice-overs with Thai subtitles, that fantasy is only a menu click away.
Proudest achievement #3: This blog. It was close between achievements three and four -- the blog only beat out my action movie collection by an Olsen twin.
Proudest achievement #2: My legs. I've only recently realized the now obvious connection between my love for my legs and my unusual - so it's been described - habit of going entire seasons without wearing pants. Some women hold dear their kindheartedness, some relish in their ability to whip up a dinner party four-course, and others would probably cite their critical analysis or conflict mediation skills. That's fine. For them. But I happen to love my runner's calves, my gave-up-Haribo-gummis-for-these thighs and the insanely high arches in my feet that afford me hours and hours of painless 4-inch heel-prancing. Yes, prancing. Just the way I was born, haters.
Proudest achievement #1: Well, duh. You saw this coming. I'm not sure exactly how Montesquieu qualifies as an achievement, but since the day that 2 lb dollop of jasmine-conditioned wonderful was given to me, I made a promise to place him at the top of every list I made.
Even if Paul Giamatti gets naked, I'll see it.
"Mr. Smith delivers a woman's baby during a shootout, and is then called upon to protect the newborn from an army of gunmen."
This is the uh, intriguing tagline for a to-be-released-this-September film called Shoot 'Em Up I vow to see no fewer than four times in the theater, eight times on DVD, and like Road House, Rising Sun and Commando before it, will receive a rare standing offer to remain un-channel-changed until the credits roll whenever the monkeys at TNT decide to anoint it "a new classic" and air it every other Sunday afternoon.
Why?
Well, let's begin with this "Mr. Smith." Imagine if you will the last famous movie character with that moniker and add a deeper, throatier British accent, a more believable I'll-fu**ing-kill-him-if-he-looks-at-you intensity and broader shoulders. That's right, this Mr. Smith is no fussy family man but rather the James Bond who should've been, my number one man-crush, Clive Owen.
I can hear my friends now, "Okay...but you didn't rush to see Derailed, so what's the big deal?" First off, Jennifer Aniston playing a seductress would have made the $6 worth of Chipotle in my tummy come right back up where it went down, and second...well, there is no second.
The big deal, readers, is that in addition to listening to Clive's voice for 120 minutes, his lady love in this sure-to-be big hot mess is none other than Monica Bellucci. That's right, just like the perfect storms of hotness that are the duos Bush/Cheney, McAdams/Gosling and Johanna/Montesquieu, higher forces have finally brought together the two most crave-worthy specimens in Hollywood.
Paul Giamatti playing the leader of the aforementioned "army of gunmen" notwithstanding - does anyone else think he should stick to self-deprecating comedy? - after seeing these two photos, the first released stills from Shoot 'Em Up, I know not even last-minute cast additions of Jennifer Aniston and Cameron Diaz could keep me away from opening afternoon.
Patent leather can go the distance
Given patent leather's popularity this year, can I wear it year round at the office? I found a super fantabulous pair of shoes but it is nearing the end of suede season -- is it also nearing the end of patent leather season?
I feel like I missed something here. Is patent leather, like seersucker for summer, velvet for winter, and synthetic for never, a material with an expiration date?
If, as my reader M implies, patent leather is only supposed to emerge during the cooler months, I'm going to have to declare Johanna Law on the ass of this antiquated rule and encourage you to do the same by wearing at least a tiny patch of its gorgeousness every single day of 2007.
Even though I approve of and advocate donning patent leather year-round, I should remind you to take into careful consideration the type of patent leather shoe you're trying to pull off.
As long as your selection is closed-toe and in a classic style ( i.e. not platform, not bright pink, not a 4.5-inch spiked stiletto, etc.), you'll be in the green zone in even the most conservative office or government building. If you're like I am, however, and get a warm feeling in your lady bits when you're firmly atop that line of appropriate and inappropriate, go for the patent peeptoe. In fall and winter, pair them with an opaque or patterned - matte not shiny - tight. As soon as the daily high consistently hits 55, however, go bare. If you can't go bare, go with a closed-toe shoe and sheer hose. Do not, I repeat, do not wear sheer hose with a peeptoe. There's nothing more unsettling than seeing uncared for feet through sheer mesh. Too many women think L'eggs Sheer Energy with Control Top is some sort of invisibility cloak when it comes to hammer toes. The truth is, hose or not, we can still see your corns and the chipped remnants from your four-months-ago pedicure. If you're not maintainin' things down there, please just reach for the opaque tights and completely toe-encased shoe.
If you're still concerned about the novelty of patent leather being too much for the family man with the packed lunch in the cubicle to your left, just overcompensate for your flash with more conservative components. To offset the trendiness of the shoe, avoid the makes-your-rack-look-devastating wrap dress, the brightly colored bolero and the drop hoop earrings. Instead, opt for more traditional pieces like a knee-length black pencil skirt, a crisp white oxford button-up, and ruby studs.
As a final note, please don't think my adoration of and recommendation for patent leather all-day, all-night, all-the-time has anything to do with it being the first big trend of 2007. Patent leather has always been, in my view, one of those rare materials any woman can wear in any setting to achieve a bump-up in her sexiness.
What cruel person would limit that to a particular season?
(note: the red patent peeptoe pump by Brian Atwood was my doing, not M's. That's just me throwing up a gratuitous picture of a shoe I love but can't bring myself to charge on my credit card)
28 March 2007
Holy f**king leggings!
Yesterday, while watching a Frontline documentary on the unknown whereabouts and identity of that brave (ahem, dead) soul who stood defiantly in front of the tank queue mowing over demonstrators in Tiananmen Square in early June 1989, I learned something I probably should have known about the country to which I have devoted in one way or another the last nine years of my life.
In true fuzzy-soft communist fashion - with efficiency and practicality not only at the forefront but at the only front - the Chinese government has created cities in the far less prosperous central and western parts of the country whose livelihoods over the last 25 years have been entirely dependent on a single commodity. Footage was shown of Anhui province's bedding city, its toilet city, toothbrush city, sock city, and even though they didn't show it, after my visit to Georgetown's campus today, there isn't a doubt in my mind a leggings city exists and that it was the number one Spring Break destination for all Hoya female co-eds.
Leggings, dress, cropped jacket, heels - 'check'
Leggings, tee, miniskirt, Grecian-style sandals - 'check'
Leggings, Georgetown Final-Four long-sleeve, sneakers - 'check'
Leggings, tunic, bright flats, cigarette - 'check ad infinitum'
In the space of 20 minutes, I must have seen five or six dozen female students rocking one of the three lengths - knee, calf and ankle - of what are essentially, foot-less pantyhose. I'm not one to knock a leggings look, because in all honesty, when done right, I think they can be quite fetching, but I will say Georgetown proved to me even more today the dearth of originality when it comes to their style scene.
What perplexed me most as I forcibly cut through the sea of Us Weekly's "favorite trend of '06" with my vampy heels, Dior lip shine and disapproving attitude was just how many body types I saw stuffed into those skin tight things. Now, I'm not saying you need a wisp of a Sienna Miller frame to pull this off, but you know what, it kinda helps. And not just for you, the wearer, but for the rest of us who can't help but stare car-accident-style at the very visible jumbly-jibs your untoned thighs create when encased like sausages in the largest pair of light blue Primps you could find.
While I may not get the leggings craze or understand the thought process behind a size 14 thinking tights-as-pants is a good idea, one issue on which there was no confusion was where Georgetown girls are shopping these days. After I saw my third Milly eyelet mini with wide patent-leather belt, I knew every last girl on that campus had already taken Daddy's AmEx for a ride at Cusp.
Ah, Georgetown University. The 10 month hiatus was long but not long enough.
Campus chic
For the first time since last May, I will return to my grad school stomping ground today to learn more about what's standing in the way of BFF status between China and the United States. They know they want to be, they know they can be, but for some reason - those pesky Japanese leaders, the whole democracy/communism misunderstanding, that made-up shift in the Northeast Asian power dynamic threatening U.S. security interests - they're still stuck in Paris/Nicole circa Winter 2005 territory.
During my time behind Georgetown's heavily guarded gates, I never really found myself too inspired by the Hoya Saxa fashion sense. The kids had money, that was certainly clear, but aside from the occasional super hip Hong Kong girl or the not quite as Eurotrashy piece of Eurotrash, there was very little uniqueness in the style landscape and almost no deviation from the traditional summer-at-the-Vineyard look: Tod's driving moccasins, straight-leg Seven jeans, a light pink popped-collar Polo, Vince cashmere sweater tied and draped over the shoulders, Longchamp tote and perfectly, always just so sideswept bangs.
Though I have my doubts about the attendees at a Sino-U.S. foreign relations round table serving as fair representation of Georgetown's style, I'll do my best to look around before, after, and who am I kidding, during the 90-minute presentation for signs of life in what I unfortunately believe is a pulse-less fashion scene.
Just like you proved those Tar-holes wrong last week, I hope you prove me wrong today, Hoyas.
Full report on campus chic later in the day.
27 March 2007
Pass it on, ladies.
Please allow me a brief digression from fashion critique for this public service announcement. Ladies, it is of the utmost importance, so please pay attention.
Two Thursdays ago, while on a first date at the Ritz in Georgetown, a couch-ful of ladies had my waiter deliver to me a note and a second Kir Royale after my companion excused himself from the table to take not his first, not his second but his third non-emergency 10+ minute phone call in the space of an hour.
The first hour, mind you.
The note read, "He doesn't deserve you. Leave now. We speak from experience."
He didn't. I didn't. And they did.
Tonight, while enjoying the 75-degree breeze, the onion loaf and a single cut of black-and-blue filet on the Morton's downtown terrace, R and I had the displeasure of sitting next to a young couple, the male half of which spent the better part of the evening booring into his bluetooth earpiece, save for the three minutes he tried unsuccessfully to get the attention of a guy on the opposite side of ConnAve who he was convinced was a former frat brother at Tulane. After his "NATHAN! Yo, dude, NATHAN! Up here! UP HERE!" episode, it got to the point where we weren't even annoyed when he guffawed about how much "frickin' Chivas Regal" he had left over from last weekend's dinner party, we were just stunned his much more attractive, much more polite (she kept shooting everyone in their vicinity "I'm so sorry" glances) companion was still sitting in her seat, calmly nursing her glass of Cab Sauv and doing her best to look occupied with her text logs.
"I'm going to have to pass the note forward," I thought to myself, "I just have to."
And so on our way out, I gave our waiter the proper instructions and handed him a note neatly cursived with those same 10 words.
Ladies, don't put up with it. Don't let your fellow DC sisters put up with it, either. Pass it on.
Wire earring by By Boe*And* a sparkly showpiece trench?
A lot of things in life aren't fair.
Irreversible knee injuries happen to people who run marathons, fluency in a foreign language is never permanent, all men who make me laugh are married, and in addition to having the most elegant non-black party dress of 2007, Hilary Duff, a girl seven years my junior whose biggest accomplishments are losing her baby weight and having her best song hijacked as the theme to a reality show - no knock to "Laguna Beach," of course - also gets to claim ownership over this stunning silver showpiece trench, which I believe hails from Burberry Prorsum's Fall/Winter 2007 runway collection.
Though the dress is hands-down the item I covet more between the two, there's just something so alluring, so no-one-else-has-it-but-you about that sparkly trench. I imagine it over a fitted black cashmere sleeveless turtleneck and a pair of wide-legged, floor-sweeping black trousers for a museum function on the Upper West Side or cinched around a simple black backless column gown at an inaugural ball at the Mayflower.
Or, if its lining is as luxe as I assume it is, this piece of outerwear could very well serve as the ultimate - and only - complement to my pick-him-up-at-the-airport dream shoe.
Cinderella shoes are never okay
I don't care if Svetlana at the Watergate Salon & Spa pedicured and paraffin-ed your feet 10 minutes ago, it is never okay to introduce see-through shoes to any situation outside of "fantasy night Thursdays."
And yes, frizzy-haired woman in the floral explosion slithering vulgarly out of your equally vulgar candy apple red SLK convertible with matching interior this morning outside of the 1140 ConnAve parking garage, if it wasn't made clear to you when you bought those at the Deja Vu gift shop, that rule extends to the office.
In all fairness, I know what she was thinking, and she did have her style-conscious cap on when she decided to wear her plastic slides. She was clearly looking for a muted shoe to offset the multi-patterned, painfully clashing color vomit on her skirt and blouse, but unfortunately, all she ended up doing was dig herself deeper and deeper into trailer-park-stripper-who-won-the-lottery-and-bought-herself-a-'spensive-car territory.
I've seen all the "What's hip for Spring 2007" features in InStyle, People, even my beloved Marie Claire -- I know translucent and transparent accessories - including shoes - are supposedly very "in" this season, but I just can't bring myself to accept the chunky lucite bangles and see-through tote bag looks. In all honesty, I think indulging in this trend even a little bit makes a woman look adolescent, and we all know that aside from wicked fast metabolisms, grades that don't count and not yet having to deal with men who treat you like discarded property, there is very little about the 10-13 year old experience worth re-living.
Okay, fine, I only wrote that because I know I'm supposed to think that way. Frankly, I loved middle school and still get nostalgic when I think about all the potentially life-ruining taunts my friends and I doled out to the less fortunate who crossed our already body-conscious, boy-crazy paths. Heavens no, I don't mean financially less fortunate, that would be cruel, I just mean those who were, in our opinions, lacking in the areas of physical beauty, athletic prowess and academic achievement. You know, the small stuff.
But anyway, back to the woman with the Cinderella slippers.
My first piece of advice would be to march her slight self up to Betsy Fisher and shed either the top or bottom and let Anne help her select a solid counterpart in a sophisticated cut from Twinkle by Wenlan, Trina Turk or DVF in a muted color. And "muted," by the way, does not mean those lime green cropped trousers she got from Calypso for last year's cruise. As for shoes, on a day like today, I would recommend being as playful as possible while still respecting the boundaries of professional dress-code. My two non-negotiable rules when it comes to work shoes are (1) there can be at most a two-toe exposure and (2) there can be only one showpiece quality (i.e. color, silhouette, heel-height) per shoe.
As for her "hair," judging from the tremendous amount of damage I saw even without my glasses, I think girlfriend should walk a block down L Street to the Men's Grooming Lounge, get her Britney on and just start over.
It's been a while since I've done a post like this. Feels good to reconnect with my bread-and-butter issue of on-the-street style critique.
Best non-black dress of 2007
I wish I could start this post by mocking how uncomfortable Hilary Duff must have felt on TRL yesterday afternoon when she was guest-hosting and found out on the air that her ex-boyfriend and current Nicole Richie flame Joel Madden was performing, but you know what, truth be told, I like Miss Duff. I always have, even when she wasn't a size-2 brunette and even before I found out she was still a virgin.
So instead of subjecting the questionably talented but ever endearing singer/actress to a series of snarky put-downs, I'm going to focus on this gorgeous strapless nude Vivienne Westwood confection with structured draping at the neck and hemlines she wore to the 18th Annual Gay & Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation Media Awards last night at the Marriott Marquis Hotel in New York City.
I'm not at all convinced Hilary's petite 5'1" frame and middling A-cup are the ideal height and chest size for maximizing the elegance and sexiness of this dress, but as I do with most Hollywood fashion statements, I tend to remove the actress, singer or gold-digging opportunist from the equation and instead imagine the ensemble on yours truly.
I'm also removing from my fantasy the tacky Beyoncé-esque accessories Hilary('s stylist) has chosen to complement her dress. The frisbee-sized enamel with inlaid diamond hollowed hoop earrings, stack of diamond bangles and pageanty Miu Miu t-straps with crystal adornments take her from what could have been a young Diane Lane to a trying-to-hold-on-too-hard-to-her-20s Goldie Hawn. In short, all that bling, ironic as it may sound, cheapens the sophistication of the dress.
I do approve, however, of the rock star bangs with low ponytail and her pillbox Leiber clutch, both of which are understated, unique, and add a dose of youthful texture to the overall look.
Let Nicole have him, sweetie, you've got the dress -- you win.
26 March 2007
80 degrees and sunny -- on a work day.
There's no greater feeling than waking up on a lazy Saturday or Sunday morning (or afternoon, technically) and while still in bed, without consciously thinking about it, already knowing from the temperature in the air and the strength of the shadows on the floor just how warm and sunny a day you're about to enjoy.
Aside from the only non-negotiable - the prince's five daily walks - these days are filled with one, maybe two open-ended commitments. Whether it's a late Cafe Saint Ex brunch or a manicure with L, naughty store purveying with P, or an action movie and gun show one-two-punch with R, lazy weekend plans, even those that require pre-arrangement, are made with the mutual understanding that when, where and what are all subject to change for no better reason than either party feels like staying where they are just a little bit longer.
Getting dressed on one of these days, for me, usually involves a bikini, dressy shorts, an Ella Moss slight-pouf cap-sleeved tee and bright flats. I pull my hair, including my bangs, completely off my face, brush on some concealer if I need it, swipe bronzer onto my apples, apply a double-coat of waterproof mascara and dab on some shine with my Kiehl's lip balm. Maybe a spritz or four of fresh Sake behind my wrists, knees and elbows. Very laid-back, very low maintenance.
Tomorrow, unfortunately, is going to be one of these days, but with a long run, an 8:30 to 5:30 work day and a proper, supportive bra in place of sleeping 'til 11, lounging without looking at a clock and lycra triangles held together by a bit of string.
What can a girl do to get excited about the first 80-degree day of the year when it falls on, of all days, a Tuesday?
There are several things, actually.
Assuming the proper planning and purchasing have been taken care of, you can debut your new Spring 2007 makeup palette; assuming your toes are in warm-weather shape, you can rock your killer peeptoes; and assuming you own one, you can float through the day in a fabulous lightweight, work-appropriate dress that easily transitions from professional to sexy for that post-work al fresco happy hour at Le Bar opposite the White House.
Oh, and don't forget to carefully assemble that all-important first iMix of the season, too. Having the right soundtrack on your way to work is critical to establish the desired mood for the day.
That means replacing Snow Patrol with Ludacris, Rachael Yamagata with Beastie Boys and Graham Parker with Mungo Jerry's "In the summertime."
Now go lay out that outfit before you wash your face and apply your before-bed lotion treatment.
Aside from the only non-negotiable - the prince's five daily walks - these days are filled with one, maybe two open-ended commitments. Whether it's a late Cafe Saint Ex brunch or a manicure with L, naughty store purveying with P, or an action movie and gun show one-two-punch with R, lazy weekend plans, even those that require pre-arrangement, are made with the mutual understanding that when, where and what are all subject to change for no better reason than either party feels like staying where they are just a little bit longer.
Getting dressed on one of these days, for me, usually involves a bikini, dressy shorts, an Ella Moss slight-pouf cap-sleeved tee and bright flats. I pull my hair, including my bangs, completely off my face, brush on some concealer if I need it, swipe bronzer onto my apples, apply a double-coat of waterproof mascara and dab on some shine with my Kiehl's lip balm. Maybe a spritz or four of fresh Sake behind my wrists, knees and elbows. Very laid-back, very low maintenance.
Tomorrow, unfortunately, is going to be one of these days, but with a long run, an 8:30 to 5:30 work day and a proper, supportive bra in place of sleeping 'til 11, lounging without looking at a clock and lycra triangles held together by a bit of string.
What can a girl do to get excited about the first 80-degree day of the year when it falls on, of all days, a Tuesday?
There are several things, actually.
Assuming the proper planning and purchasing have been taken care of, you can debut your new Spring 2007 makeup palette; assuming your toes are in warm-weather shape, you can rock your killer peeptoes; and assuming you own one, you can float through the day in a fabulous lightweight, work-appropriate dress that easily transitions from professional to sexy for that post-work al fresco happy hour at Le Bar opposite the White House.
Oh, and don't forget to carefully assemble that all-important first iMix of the season, too. Having the right soundtrack on your way to work is critical to establish the desired mood for the day.
That means replacing Snow Patrol with Ludacris, Rachael Yamagata with Beastie Boys and Graham Parker with Mungo Jerry's "In the summertime."
Now go lay out that outfit before you wash your face and apply your before-bed lotion treatment.
How did I not know about this?
As close as I've kept my ear to the ground for all things celebrity-related, I somehow missed that my number two lady crush penned her second book last year on burlesque and fetish, simply but aptly entitled, "Burlesque and the Art of the Teese" (front cover) and "Fetish and the Art of the Teese" (back cover).
I'm no expert, not even a novice, when it comes to this kind of lifestyle, but I must admit, the more I learn about it and the more outfits like this, this and this I see, the more I find myself drawn to it.
And yes, I am about to go to Borders armed with a 20%-off coupon to scoop up this placed-on-hold treasure chest of high-resolution Teese-me glossies, a highlighter and a box of those multi-colored tabs.
This is going to be just like when I had to read and take careful notes on all those academic articles for grad school on neo-realism, denial and deception strategy and the Just War theory except WAY more interesting.
And with more booby pictures.
I'd tell you to "enjoy" this small taste but methinks that would be pretty patronizing.
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