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

"Fashion is the most fakest, disgustingest thing out there"

Yeah, yeah, yeah, here's my one and only reminder to watch the show I came thisclose to being a part of.

But honestly, I'm over it.

New York is stupid, anyway. And so is fashion. And TV. And talking about New York, fashion and TV. I don't even know who cares about those kinds of things, because my friends and I certainly don't. We're substantive DC women concerned only with the influence O'Hanlon and Pollack's NYT Op-Ed might have on future U.S. policy and maybe, maaaybe if there's time, that whole West Bank misunderstanding and China/FDA squabble.

I would expound more on how much I totally don't care that these five "women" and this one dude got to live rent-free with salary in Manhattan all Summer working in the fashion PR, publishing and cosmetic industries, but you see, my timer just went off and those Funfetti cupcakes aren't going to frost themselves...

How does *this* make it into the New York Times?

February 25, 2007

TIMELESS; Brand Loyalty

By MARY-KATE OLSEN
I have a large, red quilted Chanel bag that I borrowed from my sister Ashley. I wore it to an event and never gave it back. Luckily, she's moved on to another bag, so I'm safe for now. I'm not quite sure how many bags I have, but let's just say I have a few. When I find a bag I like, I tend to wear it to death until I become obsessed with another one. This probably happens three to five times a year. But I always come back to the Chanel. The size isn't overwhelming, and it has enough subtle detail to keep it interesting.

I also have the smaller version in blue and in white, but the red is definitely my favorite. I don't have a stylist -- I'd rather just do my own thing and put together my own outfits. The chain-handle bag is the perfect accent to almost any combination I come up with. I look at everything with a designer's eye, but I wouldn't change a thing about this bag. I think that's why it's a true classic.

I'm trying really hard not to pull several different kinds of rank here - after all, a good writer is a good writer for her style and precision, not her formal experience or academic pedigree - but this review MK Olsen put together for The New York Times on how she likes to "do [her] own thing" with her favorite red Chanel handbag is an example of unearned celebrity privilege at its most egregious.

Next thing you know, we'll be reading a Katie Holmes-penned article in The Washington Post on the "funnest" part of faking her pregnancy or a piece by Nicole Richie in Newsweek in which she describes how "exhilarating" it feels to crack a malnourished rib during foreplay.

Actually, those are two articles I'd much prefer to waste five minutes of my lunch hour reading than having to endure any more of MK's dangling-participle-ridden drivel.

On the bright side, at least we now know what two-half-assed-semesters-at-NYU caliber writing looks like.