Glorious sandal by Lambertson Truex
$375 at plaza too, 914-937-6110
30 April 2007
Second favorite OKC moment.
Not since I took a nasty spill at mile 23 of my first marathon while stealing a glance - okay fine, a series of glances - of myself in reflective glass have I come across a situation thicker with laugh-out-loud irony as I did on Saturday night when I came across this Magnum XL condom wrapper atop a Holy Bible in my bedside drawer at the OKC Sheraton.
I think you'll agree with me there's no commentary needed.
Pornstar hair is for *after* work
Pornstar hair.
It's big, it's full of product, and it has the ability to make even the most deadline-focused man cancel all his PM meetings to follow the temptress to whom the locks belong to the nearest four walls with a floor-to-ceiling mirror for a late-afternoon-into-early-evening session of intense, intimate...um, discussion.
Even if most of us can't verbally discern among the manes of Tawny Kitaen in Whitesnake's "Here we go again" video, a New Jersey housewife dolled up to make a Costco run and Tera Patrick on all fours doing...well, doing what Tera Patrick does, we all know pornstar hair when we see it.
And up until this morning, it was not the kind of head-topper I'd ever expected to see in DC. Not in the ConnAve/M Street area on a Monday, anyway.
But there, standing two heads ahead of me right in front of Burberry around 10:45 this morning was the porniest porn star hair I've ever seen in person. Not only did its volume and combustible level of product surpass Jenna Jameson's in each of her six Jenna loves _____ and _____ loves Jenna films, but the number of perfectly distributed tendrils, wisps, and ringlets, too, indicated this woman, despite her modest navy pinstripe pantsuit, square-toed Cole Haans and coffee-colored leather briefcase, was likely on her way to a speakeasy filmset somewhere up in the ritziest (i.e. most sexually depraved) corner of residential Georgetown.
Don't get me wrong, this woman's thick, jet-black hair was beyond gorgeous. It was the enviable kind that could just as easily hold a curl or go stick-straight simply by looking at a set of hot-rollers or a CHI. It was the kind that no matter what she did with it, even in its most tamed ponytail state, would distract men of all ages and persuasions in all business settings into wondering what that hair would feel like to give a playfully erotic little tug. In light of this fact, the very last thing this woman should be doing in professional settings is tease - pun intended - that hair to the razor's edge between Texas beauty queen and X-rated sweetheart.
Like an amazing pair of post-marathon legs gingerlillied to the hilt with Molton Brown's finest glimmer oil, a sensual pillow lip swathed in Chanel red and a just-born-lucky 34-24-34 in mesh Cosabella boyshorts, sex kitten hair is gift - a tool - with which certain women are fortunate enough to have tucked away in their come-hither arsenals. But like said legs, lips and a made-for-lovin' figure, there is a time and a place to overtly put on display such feminine wiles as pornstar hair.
And as much as I, in terms of workplace dress-code, like to "slice the salami" as my graduate advisor used to say in reference to Taiwan's Chen Shuibian slow-but-steady diplomatic severance from the Mainland, I have to call a spade a spade and draw a line in the sand at a downtown DC bank employee walking around with clear-as-day f**k-me hair.
How does *she* get a $10M book deal?
In between not parenting and prancing around Sunset Boulevard in cowboy hooker-wear, Britney Spears is apparently in the throes of writing a book.
Not sketching with glittered stencils, not sticker booking, not having her manny read to her a Betty & Veronica Double Digest, but actually penning what I assume will be a 200+ page book filled with chapters, a table of contents and a glossary to help guide readers through terms like hickabilliest, luuved'imlots, and mmmyeah-like.
I realize this is a tell-all, not a critical deconstruction of Umberto Eco's Name of the Rose, but still, knowing that a woman - a mother - who walks around in broad daylight looking half like Michael Jackson from the "Billie Jean" video and half like Brandee from MSNBC's "Hollywood Vice" documentary, can land a multimillion dollar book deal strikes this hard-working writer and analyst as just plumb nawwfair.
An unnamed "close source" to the Spears clan (i.e. Us Weekly intern) claims a large portion of the book will be a scathing assessment of the chanteuse's relationship with egomaniacal ex-boyfriend Justin Timberlake who apparently, "called her fat and told her she'd need to lose weight before he would have sex with her."
Given where her body is now, Brit should spit out that wad of Big League Chew, get on her knees, press together her acrylics and pray her next temporary man-skank only requests she shed a few pounds before doing the 2-5 minute, foreplay-free deed. Five years, two babies and two wonky thighs after Justin dumped her cheating ass, I wouldn't deign to judge any man who instructed her to undergo a series of aggressive microdermabrasions, implemented a strict "no talking" rule, and disallowed all artificial cheese snack chips/rinds/curls in the bedroom.
Can't wait for the pre-order!
29 April 2007
If I had a sugar daddy...
Saffiana patent leather tote by Salvatore Ferragamo
$1,080 at saks.com (pre-order)
28 April 2007
The land of $.75 muffins and $9 manicures
I may just stay here.
The prices are low, the people are kind (a take-you-by-the-arm-and-insist-on-helping-you-find-those-Nature-Valley-granola-bars-at-the-Super-Walmart brand of kind) and aside from the year-round concern that your house might be funnel-clouded from Lawton all the way to Norman, the weather is pretty darn wonderful, too.
And the honeysuckle. Oh the honeysuckle!
But in the end, I don't think Oklahoma City is for me. Partly because Monte would refuse to come, partly because the nearest Sephora is in Texas (when I need more Stila concealer in shade C, I need it now, not in 3-5 business days), but primarily because I don't think the market demand for Chinese linguists could bear more than sweet Zhao Shanmei and her elderly husband, both of whom have been here so long they've unconsciously adopted the local "y'all" and have even plastered both windows of Lucky Jade Palace with Sooner football decals.
Several of you sent me e-mails yesterday asking me to comment on the style scene down here, and by "comment" I assume you mean "denigrate," and while I'm usually up to the task, after a most pleasant evening of palavering with the locals last night over lump crab penne primavera and a frisbee-sized snickerdoodle cookie at Nonna's, I decided not go down the path of poking fun at their bedazzled pantsuits, brassy bouffants and visor-to-sneakers Sooner pride uniforms.
The thing is, I don't really think I could, because even though I don't share their affinity for all things matchy-matchy and bedecked with flair, there's no getting around the fact that these women are seriously put together. In the 24 hours I've been here, I've yet to see a single just-'cause-it's-comfortable kind of woman. Granted, Okie ladies may not be wearing high-waisted trouser jeans, halter-neck tuxedo blouses or ballet flats; they may not be able to answer the question, "Did you prefer Katie Holmes' style pre-Tom or post-Tom?"; and yes, they may have names we Northerners like to associate with teenage pregnancy like Crystal-Anne, Tammy and Tricia-Jo, but even so, these women, unlike so many I see in NW DC, have taken the time and care to develop a style all their own. They actually know what they like and dislike. They actually get what fits and doesn't fit their frame. In short, they care about presentation.
And that right there, to me, is style.
And now I'm off to get that $9 manicure, which, yes, does include tax and tip.
27 April 2007
26 April 2007
Like a cast-off mistress, I just can't stay away
As well-intentioned as my self-imposed break started out, I've realized in our first 10 hours of ripped-apart separation just how incomplete I am without you. I love you. I really really love you. And we could be together, we could, if we just worked hard enough at it. If we just looked at the good, just celebrated the effortless every-level chemistry, if we just took a time-out and focused on...on the love. The love.
So yeah, in addition to all that, I also felt selfish for not sharing with y'all (see, it's already coming back...) clips of the best training montage and kick-ass fights from a time not so long ago -- a time when action movies really mattered. A time before Seagal went all bloated earth-shaman on us, a time before we realized Swayze was a primordial dwarf, and a time before films in this genre suddenly became beholden to the same highbrow standards - i.e. logical plotlines, plausible hero-to-enemy kill ratios and scores not built around synthesizer solos - as dramas and foreign comedies.
Yes, I'm talking about the '80s, a decade when Rocky IV, Bloodsport, and Commando may not have been as critically acclaimed as Terms of Endearment, The Accidental Tourist, or Sophie's Choice, but at least they were mindless fun, at least they were motivating before big sports events, and at least they gave us great scenes like these below.
Enjoy. I already did - all three in their entirety plus Cobra - on my couch in head-to-toe sweats.
Rocky IV -- the training montage that set the standard:
Bloodsport -- the Chong Li fight:
Commando -- the infamous island mowdown:
Grape slushees and tornadoes, here I come!
Though I always knew I loved this blog and loved you, my loyal readership, it took facing a no-way-around-it three day departure for me to really realize just how attached I'd grown over the past four months to sharing with you my sometimes educational, often repugnant but always spot-on views regarding DC fashion and celebrity weight-gain.
But like I said, there's just no way for me to fit in time to blog when I will be jet-setting this glorious ass of mine Grapes of Wrath style in a pair of Asics Gel Kayanos to the capital city of the state that boasts the nation's highest civilian-to-correctional-facility ratio (approximately 70,000:1), is home to Shawnee, the city in which the very first Sonic Drive-In turned on its speakers, and most notable, the state that serves as the unofficial birthplace of the rat-tail, the femmullet, and even though I'm pretty sure it hasn't been identified yet, whatever this is.
And to those of you who've asked me the same two questions over and over again, the answer to the first is I will prepare mentally with the films Time Cop, Rocky IV and Serendipity; the answer to the second is a resounding "yes." Yes, I will be going through the full makeup routine beforehand. Even bronzer. Even eyeliner. Even Dior Addict lip gloss in shade #313.
See you on Monday!
You be the judge.
Might be photoshopped, might not be.
But seeing as though I made a commitment to myself back in 1998 to believe everything I read in every celebrity news outlet, be it an online source, written publication or TV news-magazine, I have no choice but to accept the fact that Britney has the most butterscotch-pudding-looking upper thighs of any 25 year old with a BMI not of the Carnie-Wilson-during-the-Wilson-Phillips-years sort.
It's sad, but there are worse things than having gross legs. Just ask Cameron Diaz.
Flummoxed
All morning I've been trying to figure out just how this fiercely toned stomach and these wonky thighs can be attached to the same 25 year old woman.
I thought and thought and thought about it until I got such a brain headache I decided it'd be easier to first negotiate a Treaty of Friendship between China and Japan, craft a strategy to quell the insurgency in Al Anbar province and finally, convince all American children to want Marmite-and-butter sandwiches instead of Lunchables.
Phew, after all that, I think I'm ready to take a second look.
(taking a second look)
Nope, still flummoxed. And on my way to the Post Office to mail this hot mess some pants.
Are we really having this conversation again?
DC women, I just don't know what to do with you.
Walking the little princeling after work yesterday on ConnAve between K and Dupont Circle, I saw enough bejeweled, sequined, spangly, sparkly, straps-winding-up-the-calves "special occasion" sandals to put Sheesha Lounge on a Saturday night to shame.
Problem is, these women were wearing suits, not stretch pants and tube tops; this was a weekday in the most professional of all professional DC corridors, not a rowdy Saturday night in Adams Morgan; and the offenders were predominatly women in their late-30s/early-40s, not 23 year old super seniors.
Even after I wrote a post about this very problem back in January, I never thought I'd hit a point where I actually wanted to pull these ladies aside, one by one, and offer to escort them to the New Balance store to purchase a nice new pair of cool grey 992s.
Yes, that's right, if the choice is between these and these, always choose the latter. No question.
There's a reason why "Dress for your audience" is my number 2 rule. 'Tis much less offensive to place function over fashion than it is to be a DC professional from the ankles up and a cage dancer from the ankles down.
So please, let go of your "the strappier the better" mantra when it comes to picking out a work shoe and slip your feet into a nice pair of understatedly sexy pumps like these 'Giselle' peeptoes from Kate Spade ($275 at katespade.com).
25 April 2007
The other half of "Fugs-n-Jugs"
This doesn't usually happen, but for some reason, a spell of OCD has come over me and I feel compelled - no, obligated - to reestablish equilibrium in my small corner of the blogosphere by posting something about Jessica Simpson's current flame John "the poor man's Peter Cetera" Mayer.
Since I don't really "do" men's fashion and he doesn't really live a gossipy existence other than having a reputation for enjoying "really dirty sex" (triple yawn), I've decided to share with you "I'm Gonna Find Another You," otherwise known as the only reason to consider buying the mop-topped crooner's latest album, Continuum.
Whenever I listen to this song, I can't help but envision John, broken-hearted, singing these lines one day in the post-Jessica future. I wonder if he'll amend the "If I'm forced to find another/I hope she looks like you" lyric to something slightly more along the lines of "If I'm forced to find another/I hope she offers intellectual challenge" or "If I'm forced to find another/I hope she doesn't ask so many questions during Coen Brothers' films." Just a thought.
So here below is the Fugs half of Fugs-n-Jugs singing the most honest moving-on-'cause-I-ain't-got-no-choice song I've heard since Eamon's romantic 2004 ballad, "Fuck it (I don't want you back)."
"I'm Gonna Find Another You" by John Mayer:
Why Jessica and most of you should step away from the high-waisted jeans
I honestly thought the high-waisted trouser trend that has taken over Hollywood in the past few months and graced the bottom halves of stars like Eva Mendes, Liv Tyler and Chloë Sevigny and can't-they-just-go-away C-listers like Mischa Barton and Jessica Simpson would pass by unnoticed and untried in our fair city.
This is, after all, like a strapless neckline, a skinny pant and a tulip skirt, a cut that to be worn flatteringly demands a very particular body-type.
A body-type, as hot as it may look in a white crocheted Michael Kors mini and much as it may be John Mayer's current wonderland, Jessica Simpson simply does not possess.
The woman I saw on my way to work this morning who, bless her heart, was trying her darndest to emulate what she had seen in the latest issues of both Vogue and In Touch Weekly, failed and failed miserably in trying to bring the not just high-waisted but extremely high-waisted trouser jean to the streets of NW DC.
Like Jess, this woman racked up her three strikes right away by being petite, short-waisted and cartoonishly curvaceous. Rocking the high-waisted trouser successfully not only requires height, and a perfectly proportioned torso-to-leg ratio but an evident but not too evident waist-to-hip transition. In most fashion magazines I've read this Spring, editors have splashed these Katherine Hepurn jeans across their denim features declaring liberation at long last from the "hard to wear" skinnies. Yes, it's true, if you have a tiny waist to which you want to draw attention, the high-waisted jeans may be for you. And yes, it's true, if you have a tiny waist and are at least 5'6" with heels, you've cleared another hurdle. But if you have a tiny waist, the right height and a DD chest, boy hips or are of questionable gender, however, the game is immediately over and you must take off that pair of J Brand Bardot high-rises and hand 'em over.
The truth is, neither the skinny nor the high-waisted silhouette is an every-woman option, and while I am pleased to see DC women taking chances with their street style, I still believe the most important consideration to keep in mind when selecting an outfit is not how great the item looks on the girl in the magazine, not how great the item will look on you once you stop eating Popeye's and finally get your ass to the gym, but how the item will look on the figure you have right now.
So until you can rock the high-waist as fiercely as Gwen, I'd stick with a nice mid-rise straight leg.
And I thought *I* was cool in high school
Some girls physically mature later than others. Some don't "grow into themselves," as they say, until they're well past high school. These are the girls who dry their eyes and blow their noses when their Jake-picks-Samantha wistfulness ends up more like dance after dance of Steff-treating-Andie-like-shit. These are the girls whose parents offer "helpful" words of comfort like, "Oh honey, he just doesn't see what's on the inside," "maybe you should try for that other boy - the one from band class who seems to really like you," and "those popular girls aren't going to be so popular in the 'real world,' you'll see."
Judging by these recently-released photos of Sienna Miller taken when she was just shy of her 16th birthday, I'd wager she was not one of these girls. No, from what I can tell, this was the kind of lass who had nary a problem accepting her looks, snagging a boyfriend and digging deep to find the confidence to...well, to do anything.
What's disconcerting about these photos is that had I not read their accompanying text I would have assumed this was a recently-shot set. Not only does she at 16 look strikingly like she does at 25, but as I noted a few days ago with Angelina, at the age when so many girls are grappling to just get through the day-to-day of teenagerhood, Sienna is already in a place where she exudes a womanly confidence, an extreme self-comfort, and yes, even hints of an undiscovered - or, judging from the last two photos, maybe not so undiscovered - sexuality, all of which jump off the page and have you wondering who the hell this saucy little blonde is and what the hell's on her mind.
Sure, most of these outfits and poses are much too suggestive for a junior in high school, but that aside, focusing solely on the natural impetuousness that comes through, for me, the strongest in the eyes-closed belly-laugh picture and the very Edie-Sedgwick-esque "whot-yoo-lookin'-at?" tilt-of-the-head and drag-of-the-fag picture. You look at Sienna in these photos and you just know. You know, even if she didn't at the time, that something fabulous and fun and uniquely her would be coming down the pike very soon.
And for all those poor homecoming queens, student body presidents and the ultra-piteous student body presidents who also happened to be homecoming queens, Sienna proves early-developed beauty and popularity doesn't have to be a knocked-up, dropped-out, trailer-park life sentence, after all.
More pictures of Sienna looking a whole lot better than we did at 16 below:
24 April 2007
Irony thick, Kate's waistline not so much
I swear, Kate Bosworth's publicist must have a sense of humor of the blackest sort.
How else can you explain this and now this series of pictures of the young actress looking admittedly better than in past outings but still skinnier than a roll of Rolos posing at, of all places, the Food Bank of New York City’s annual Can-Do awards gala with a stripe of caution-tape flailing in the wind?
Thankfully, Ms. Bosworth and her stylist chose for her a lovely seafoam green tea-length Chloé dress with high, ruffled-neck and pleated skirt that completely covers both her washboard chest and so-sinewy-you-have-to-look-away thighs. Unfortunately, the back of the dress is wide-open, but being the kind soul I sometimes am and it being so close to dinner-time, I chose not to post those pictures.
Can't say I'm crazy about her painted face, though the contrast of the deep crimson lips against her dewy sunkissed skin is quite striking.
At the rate Kate's gaining weight, she should be back in fighting form (i.e. her Blue Crush weight) in about...yeah, it's never gonna happen.
My recommendation:
(Liv Tyler + Kate Bosworth) ÷ 2 = killing two birds with one stone
Gold Cup quandry solved. Sort of.
"I am going to Gold Cup and I have a fab Kay Unger sundress to wear and I want to wear a pair of brown/nude/beige heels. I prefer 3 inches and higher. My only problem is that I will be standing around outside in the grass and I don't have to spend the entire time leaning on my toes while trying not to fall over after too many bourbons. I have a pair of wedge sandals that I bought last summer but I just feel like the dress calls for something more delicate than wedges. Suggestions?"
I won't sugarcoat it -- this is a no-win situation. Either you go stiletto and put forth some effort, or you go chunky and look like, well, the kind of girl who'd wear a chunky heel.
As my own skinny 4-inchers sank into the soil this morning when I scampered across wood chips, flowerbeds and condom wrappers to collect that which the preciousness at right "left behind" (click for full precious effect), I was reminded even before I received your e-mail just how impractical a high heel can be when treading on less than solid terrain.That being said, in this and in every situation, I will always advise you as I would advise myself: set practicality aside and do what you have to do to look your best. If that means putting more weight on the balls of your feet for hours on end to avoid turning your stilettos into golf-tees, then so be it. Stay on hard surfaces as often as you can and instead of complaining when the pain becomes too much to bear, make like a socialite and toss out an airy, "Oh goodness, the crazy things we do for fashion!" to those women with their overweening smirks who, despite their dearth of male suitors and jealous up-and-down female glances, are still under the impression their sturdy square-toes were the proper choice. And finally, when you're on the verge of kicking those heels off, try to remember and revel in the fantastic posture those 3+ inch heels afford you.
I know many of you will disagree with me on the just-deal-with-the-pain front, but in my opinion, the reward of feeling like the best-dressed minx in the crowd is worth all the pain and effort I've just described.
It is the Gold Cup, after all.
Even though I don't have the specifics on your Kay Unger dress (love her designs, by the way), I do have the most important information, which is that you already know you want a nude, fairly delicate, sundress-complementing pump or sandal. You didn't mention a the specific price-point you were looking for, but assuming you and I are in similar financial situations, I took the liberty of only looking for pairs under $200.
My recommendations:
1. Esen by Miss Sixty ($173.95 at zappos.com)
2. Tammy by Tahari ($105 at piperlime.com)*
3. Gabay by Anne Klein ($75 at piperlime.com)
4. Maylie pump by Enzo Angiolini ($56 at lorisdesignershoes.com)
5. 3468 by Vic Matie ($188 at lorisdesignershoes.com)
6. Chance encounter pump by Seychelles ($79.95 at endless.com)
7. Faith sandal by Martinez Valero ($128.95 at nordstrom.com)
8. Drama slingback by Via Spiga ($189 at nordstrom.com)
9. Carina open pump by Nina ($89.95 at ninashoes.com)
10. Palermo by Dolce Vita ($132 at pinkmascara.com)**
*your editrix's top pick (shown below)
**your editrix's second pick (if your dress is a neutral shade)
The rough outline: heels and marital status
My first attempt at organizing a research plan based on my observations from yesterday.
1. Observation:
The best shoes seem to be on the feet of professional women without rings on their left ring fingers.
2. Hypothesis:
Unmarried DC women wear taller, skinnier pumps to the office than do married DC women.
3. Operational Definitions:
unmarried: women under 35 years of age without rings on their left fingers
DC: a four-block radius of the ConnAve/M St. intersection
women: individuals who, based on my close assessment, were born with female reproductive organs
pumps: a woman's dress shoe, which includes a wedge with a pump-like toe (i.e. not espadrille or sandal wedges), that has at least a half inch of elevation
married: women under 35 years of age with rings on their left ring fingers
to the office: I will make the assumption that any woman wearing professional or business casual clothing - like porn, we know it when we see it - is a woman going to the office
4. Testing the Hypothesis:
Each week, as often as I can, at some point between 11:30am and 3pm, for every pump-wearing married and unmarried woman under 35 years of age, I will record, based on my expert judgment, exactly how high (.5-inch on up) and how skinny (super-stiletto, stiletto, stacked, chunky, block) each of their heels are.
After a week of recording this information, assign reasonable quantitative values to each heel height and each heel width to simplify the analytic process.
For example:
Height
.5 to 1-inch heel: 1 point
1.5 to 2-inch heel: 2 points
1.5 to 2-inch heel: 2 points
2.5 to 3-inch heel: 3 points
3.5 to 4-inch heel: 4 points
4+: 5 points
Width
super-stiletto heel: 5 points
stiletto heel: 4 points
stacked heel: 3 points
chunky heel: 2 points
block heel: 1 point
Height and width point totals will remain separate so as to allow for comparisons between unmarried/married women's heel height and unmarried/married women's heel width -- adding the two numbers would make it impossible to discern between the two.
5. Data Analysis:
Still in the works...this is the crux of the study, obviously, and I will be counting on the regression mastery of C to help me achieve the most accurate, error-free analytic product possible.
6. Weaknesses:
Clearly, not every woman wearing a ring on her left ring finger is married and not every woman with a bare left ring finger is unmarried, but in the interest of avoiding cat-fight after cat-fight, I am instead going to work from the assumption that a ring on that particular finger - including all stones and all metals - is tantamount to "currently married." The exceptions on both sides will hopefully cancel each other out, or at the very least reduce the amount of error.
Another foreseen weakness that threatens the robustness of my results involves the under-35 age limit. Because I've now become one of those women who doesn't like being asked "How old are you?" by anyone in any situation, I refuse to impose this query on anyone else. I have three women in mind - all "regular" women, not celebrities - who will collectively remind me what an average woman of that age looks like. Sure, I might end up including a tremendously well-preserved 42 year old Chinese woman and skipping a bare, weathered faced I-don't-need-to-be-pretty-to-make-partner 26 year old, but again, like above, I plan on these two exceptions ultimately cancelling one another out.
7. Conclusions:
To be seen
8. Recommendations:
To be seen
23 April 2007
Heels and Marital Status: Correlation?
In the 20 or so minutes it took me to slurp down my Robek's Vitabek-enriched Strawbanana protein smoothie, I noticed a distinct and at first blush, alarmingly robust correlation between the heels on a woman's shoes and her marital status.
Now before you rush to dispel my not-yet-sussed-out, still very nascent, still multifaceted hypothesis that unmarried professional women are more likely to wear skinnier, taller, more toe-revealing pumps than their married counterparts, know that I did make a cursory attempt to limit my sample group to women under 30 - women who looked under 30, anyway - and women in professional dress so as not to allow lurking variables such as age (i.e. older women need shorter, fatter heels for health reasons) and dress-code (i.e. those in NGO-type work environments, married or not, are most likely forced to wear comfort sandals and crosstrainers) to cloud my results.
Because I am a devout follower of the Scientific Method, my goal for today is to scope out a research plan centering on this potentially powerful theory. From crafting a carefully-worded hypothesis to writing distinct operational definitions to identifying measurable empirical evidence gathering techniques to speculating on the kinds of thoughtful conclusions and recommendations I might put forth, this study has the potential to be a 4 or even 5-part series of postings.
I always knew pursuing my first longitudinal case study not focusing on the pan Asian region would be a turning point in my life.
Very exciting stuff. Stay tuned...
The perfect day for a lunch-time tan
This being my third post in three days having to do with suntanning, you all are probably thinking I have a skin cancer death-wish.
And while I don't have any convincing evidence to dispute this claim - perhaps in itself an admission of guilt - I can assure you that even though I spend an inordinate amount of time obsessing over things like which neckline and hemline to wear to maximize my shoulders' and legs' sun intake, the angles at which the sun hits the various parts of my body, and the amount of time I'm facing the sun versus having it at my back, I'm still a very responsible young lady when it comes to protecting that which is most valuable to me.
No, after my legs.
After my bah'um.
No, no before all that shit on my resume.
Yes, that's right -- my *face*.
Beginning with J.Lo's professed favorite and ending with those that even a lowly analyst can afford, here are my picks for the most effective non-prescription sun-shielding daily facial moisturizers:
1. La Mer by Creme da le Mer ($195 at neimanmarcus.com)
2.Repairwear Day SPF 15 by Clinique ($47 at clinique.com)
3. Protective Face Lotion SPF 15 by Bobbi Brown ($45 at saks.com)
4. Protective Moisturizer SPF 15 by Trish McEvoy ($40 at saks.com)
5. Abyssine Lotion SPF 15 by Kiehl's ($40 at kiehls.com)
6. Daily Protective Moisturizer by DDF ($36 at sephora.com)
7. Waterproof SPF 30 by Murad ($35 at sephora.com)
8. Total Effects Vitamin Complex by Oil of Olay ($17.99 at drugstore.com)*
9. Healthy Defense Daily SPF 30 by Neutrogena ($13.99 at cvs.com)
10. Daily Facial Moisturizer by Cetaphil ($9.99 at drugstore.com)
*what your editrix's uses
So swipe on some Kiehl's Lib Balm SPF 15, grab your book, your 400 calorie lunch (300 if you aren't working out today) and I'll meet you - and the large homeless contingent - in the roundabout park in 15!
Very pretty Petra wears very ugly dress
I applaud many aspects of supermodel and Angelina-lite Petra Nemcova's look at Saturday night's WHCA gala and Bloomberg-sponsored after-party.
I like that she pulled her hair up-and-off her shoulders, I like that she went for black eyeliner and a bare shiny lip, I like that she allowed her beautiful décolletage and not some bauble to be the center of her neckline's attention, I like that she chose an elegant floor-sweeping hemline, and most of all, I like that this very stacked young lady chose not to bare cleavage - pushed-up cleavage, anyway, like this so-past-her-prime-she-needs-pity-more-than-judgment Barbie doll predictably did.
But that gown, Petra...goodness, that gown. Where do I start?
There are several impasses in the way of me embracing this dual-spaghetti-strapped v-neck/v-back empire-waisted slip dress, primary among them is that from the you-think-you're-seeing-more-than-you-really-are black-lace-overlay trick-of-the-eye right down to the pointless train and the pinned-on rosette at the base of the bustline, this dress looks more like somthing an 11th grader would pick out at the Pentagon City Caché for her junior - not senior but junior - prom than something a seasoned catwalk veteran would don at a high-society event. And even if you disagree with me on that front, you have to admit the empire cut on this gown makes the size-4 Czech stunner look wider than a circa-2005 Tony Blankley.
Were I Petra's stylist, I would have chosen for her a much more figure-flattering silhouette, either a column-style like this one from Donna Karan or a slim, drop-waisted sequined shift like this one from Dolce & Gabbana.
In the end, though, at least Petra put forth a noticeable effort into her look, unlike this pair of hostile, canola-fueled granola bars. And quite honestly, I think we all know she could've showed up in a shapeless chambray sack from Chico's, a pair of Ecco comfort sandals and been attached at the hip all night to this fool and it wouldn't have mattered. Quite simply, she's got what all powerful men in this city are after -- a pretty face, a sick body, a less than nuanced understanding of English and most important, an early morning plane ticket home.
22 April 2007
Scarlett doing her "coochie ups and downs"
I didn't think it was possible for me to crush any harder on Scarlett after I caught wind of her in-elevator hookup with Benicio del Toro at a post-Oscars party in the Chateau Marmont in 2004 (she was barely 19, he was almost 38), but after witnessing her ability to transform from the Rubenesque sex kitten we all know and lust after into the most delicious piece of "why can't I get this dress to show off my junk?" B&T trash you see below, I have fallen ever more deeply under her spell.
A woman with a killer body and a beautiful face is a rare one, indeed, but one with a killer body, a beautiful face and Jane-Curtin-like comedic timing -- now she's a keeper.
Scarlett, in all her ghetto-fabulousness on last night's "Saturday Night Live":
To help get your T-A-N on safely
When I woke up this morning, only one word was on the tip, middle and back of my tongue.
Poolside.
But before I make the tough decision between the brown triangle halter and the emerald bandeau and head out to meet C, the nice man in the membership office of the Ritz Carlton's Sports Club/LA who thinks I'm activating my one-week guest pass today for legitimate, I'm-thinking-about-joining purposes, I thought I'd put together a collection of wrinkle-protection-in-a-bottle options to keep your skin looking as fresh, tan and not-like-this as it did all those summer days up at the lake when you did nothing else but jump off the dock, dive for clams and erect towel forts.
Unlike some of the other recommendations I've put forth, this group below is tested-and-approved by yours truly. No hearsay, no secondary sources, no beauty-editors-at-Allure-said-it-worked-so-it-must-be-good.
And though I'm all about investing when it comes to my skin, my experience has been that the best sunscreens for your body are drugstore sunscreens, not department store makeup counter sunscreens.
Ladies, your sun protection arsenal:
1. All Day Waterproof 15-plus by Hawaiian Tropic ($7.99 at drugstores everywhere)*
2. SPF 15 Sunscreen Lotion by Coppertone ($7.59 at drugstores everywhere)
3. Sport Sunblock Spray SPF 15 by Coppertone ($8.39 at drugstores everywhere)
4. Age Shield SPF 30 by Neutrogena ($9.99 at drugstores everywhere)
5. Orange Gelée by Ban de Soleil ($8.99 at drugstore.com)*
6. Sport Sunblock Lotion SPF 15 by Banana Boat ($7.73 at drugstore.com)
Poolside.
But before I make the tough decision between the brown triangle halter and the emerald bandeau and head out to meet C, the nice man in the membership office of the Ritz Carlton's Sports Club/LA who thinks I'm activating my one-week guest pass today for legitimate, I'm-thinking-about-joining purposes, I thought I'd put together a collection of wrinkle-protection-in-a-bottle options to keep your skin looking as fresh, tan and not-like-this as it did all those summer days up at the lake when you did nothing else but jump off the dock, dive for clams and erect towel forts.
Unlike some of the other recommendations I've put forth, this group below is tested-and-approved by yours truly. No hearsay, no secondary sources, no beauty-editors-at-Allure-said-it-worked-so-it-must-be-good.
And though I'm all about investing when it comes to my skin, my experience has been that the best sunscreens for your body are drugstore sunscreens, not department store makeup counter sunscreens.
Ladies, your sun protection arsenal:
1. All Day Waterproof 15-plus by Hawaiian Tropic ($7.99 at drugstores everywhere)*
2. SPF 15 Sunscreen Lotion by Coppertone ($7.59 at drugstores everywhere)
3. Sport Sunblock Spray SPF 15 by Coppertone ($8.39 at drugstores everywhere)
4. Age Shield SPF 30 by Neutrogena ($9.99 at drugstores everywhere)
5. Orange Gelée by Ban de Soleil ($8.99 at drugstore.com)*
6. Sport Sunblock Lotion SPF 15 by Banana Boat ($7.73 at drugstore.com)
7. Protective Tanning Lotion SPF 8 by Hawaiian Tropic ($7.99 at drugstores everywhere)
8. Superblock SPF 45 by Bull Frog ($8.99 at drugstores everywhere)**
*in your editrix's beach bag
**ideal if you don't want any color of any kind
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