My kind of lullaby

Since I imposed my no-posting-on-the-weekends rule, I have held as steadfastly to it as I possibly could, breaking my word not more than once, maybe twice in the past few months.

But some days, especially those when I'm feeling a bit under the weather, housebound, and wistful for the feel it, write it, post it Saturdays of yore, I can't help but go against what was supposed to have been an iron-clad declaration of reclaiming a bit of non-blog life for the pup and myself and share with you something that has me absolutely mesmerized.

Whether you take an Andie, a Miranda or in fact, no approach to high-end fashion, you'll find it impossible to deny how deeply lulling the thoughtful analytic texture of Cathy Horyn's Paris Fashion Week review comes across in audio form.

Her effortless pronunciation of "Nicolas Ghesquière," the almost maternal tone with which she anoints Lanvin's Alber Elbaz "the [Yves] Saint Laurent of today," her clear-as-day passion for the inspirations and iterations that have led up to and will follow, respectively, that which she sees sashaying down the runways -- all of these reasons, not to mention the collage of pretty photos that accompany her two, two-minute documentary-like streams, have had the pup and me listening to Ms. Horyn's Parisian musings every day, often more than once a day, since last Saturday.

And while we're on the couture kick, if you haven't already done so, be sure to check out The Sartorialist's snaps from outside the venues, especially this one (despite her flats) and the second one down from here -- my favorites.

As you were,
Johanna