Five ways to improve your ass & 10 Fall skirts to show off the results

In my experience, there is no body part more immediately responsive to targetted tightening than the ass.

By the same token, there is also no body part that when its owner is left to her own slothful devices is more immediately vulnerable to gravity's pull than this same area.

Not that I would ever adovocate working out for the purpose of looking more attractive for others (by Jove, wouldn't that be a gas!), but here below are five relatively easy-to-stick-to boo-tay-hey exercises I swear by and that have earned me in some very private circles (i.e., with former and current lovers, a few friends' fathers and the day laborers outside the P St. Whole Foods) the reputation for having a fantastic ass.

Without further ado...

Exercise 1: Bathroom squats

After business is taken care of and before you head back to your desk, squeeze in 15 deep-bend squats. If you drink the 96 oz. of water per day you're supposed to, that would accumulate to more than 90 per day.

Exercise 2: Walk up the stairs and flex those cheeks while you do it

Commit to walking up every escalator and when you're not short on time, also opt for the stairs over the escalator or elevator. If you're at home and in casual clothing, try running up the stairs, taking every other stair as you climb.

Exercise 3: Do at least part of your cardio workout uphill/at an incline

The monumental difference between four months ago and now in the highness and tightness of my backside is almost exclusively due to the hilly terrain of MassAve running route. Nothing creates a taut lil' Bieltastic booty like regular uphill walking, running and/or elliptical-ing.

Exercise 4: Superman, baby

It may look silly, but man, does this work. Instead of getting a snack during the second commercial break of "The Hills," why not get down on your floor 8th-grade-gym-class style and do 10 sets of 10 10-second holds?

Exercise 5: Be on top more often and really "go for the gold" while you're up there

If you really need elaboration on this one, feel free to leave a comment to that effect.

Once you've followed my daily regiment for a few weeks and earned that rock-hard pop of ass, you'll want nothing more than to showcase it in one of these for-Fall beauties:

Silk pencil skirt by Castle Starr ($71 at revolveclothing.com)

Luigi skirt by Dallin Chase ($151 at otteny.com)
Plaid mini by Walter ($165 at daszign.com)

Mermaid skirt by What Goes Around... ($230 at activeendeavors.com)*

Herringbone Nina skirt by Esprit ($79.50 at espritshop.com)
Pencil skirt with flip hem by Ted Baker ($265 at urbanminx.com)

High-waisted tweed pencil skirt by Lux ($58 at urbanoutfitters.com)

Belted pencil skirt by Kenneth Cole Reaction ($74 at macys.com)

Liddy mini skirt by Theory ($235 at shopbop.com)*

New Marple knit skirt by DvF ($210 at nordstrom.com)

*your Editrix's top picks

Technical difficulties (updated)

Yes, thank you, I am aware I have two "Since I don't (yet)" features on my sidebar.

Until Blogspot decides to shape up (we've been fighting since early yesterday evening), just ignore the dated picture and instead enjoy this snap of Kim Kardashian last night outside Koi in Los Angeles.

Methinks there was never a more convincing advert for the high-waisted pencil skirt -- or 10 sets of 15 lunges after your Sunday morning spin class.

Update: no acerbically witty caption to wrap your head around -- you just need your mouth (gaping), your eyes (bulging) and your hand (censored)

No, Blogspot still won't let me get rid of the Club Monaco skirt. Yes, this was just an excuse to show another photo of Kim's ridiculously large, in-charge and gravity-defying backside.

You're welcome.

You SO wish, Biel.

This fine piece of British badunkadunk doesn't belong to Sienna Miller or Keira Knightley.

And good guess, but no, it's not the backside of Billy Zane's insanely hot girlfriend, "actress" Kelly Brook, either.

Believe it or not, but this bah'um - born to Ilyena Vasilievna Mironov - has won an Oscar, two Golden Globes in a single year (three total), and perhaps most impressive of all, has been around for six decades and change.

That's right, this sweet behind (and those fierce black toenails) belongs to none other than 62 year old Dame Helen Mirren.

Until I discovered Ms. Mirren this past year, I blindly believed the line I heard other parents feeding their defeated children when I outperformed them year after year in the Grammar Bees, the Student Government elections, and the from-home-plate-to-second-base throwdowns:

"Nobody wins everything, honey, somewhere along the line, she's going to lose, too."

Now, I suppose that has been true in my case (there was that one time...), but certainly not in Helen's. Not when it comes to professional success or hotness longevity, anyway. To jog your memory, this is the woman whose rack, without the benefaction of surgery, still looks unfathomably perky and full as an ingenue's half her age.

A fabulous ass, a tremendous chest, a happy marriage of 21 years and that elegant accent?

Now I know exactly how the other kids felt.

I was *thisclose* to getting over her...

And then she takes a photo like this.

Well played, Ms. Biel.

Whomever it was at Elle who made the call for Jessica to wear a turtleneck and a fat-strapped Swatch watch deserves a king-size box of Mike & Ikes for their sound judgment. Were it not for those two components, one might look at a picture like this - the two-inch hemline, the stripper heels, the reflective titty-bar-stage surface and the uh-uh-yeeeaah-I-like-it-like-that pose - and think twice about considering her a serious actress.

Keep trying, honey, you're just two Nicholas Cage/Jerry Bruckheimer films away from Vivien Leigh status.

The perfect weather for some Kim Kardashian reflection

Like many of you, this foul wet weather has convinced me to hole-up hermit style in my studio today doing little else but press "refresh" on my favorite celebrity blogs, watch both Under Siege films in succession and try to remember to think about achieving my one weekend goal of cleaning something.

Since I'll have no opportunities today to be influenced by random acts of DC style, I thought I'd take care of another less nail-breaking brand of house-cleaning: finally attempt to build a legitimate blog post around callipygian beauty Kim Kardashian.

"Who?" some of you might be asking yourselves. Well, beyond being Hollywood's only truly hot piece of celubtante T&A, Kim is the former galpal of Paris Hilton, daughter of the late OJ defense attorney, Robert Kardashian, star of the soon-to-be-released "Kim Kardashian Superstar" Vivid Video release, and the most difficult to justify object of your editrix's affection.

This may surprise you, but for the most part, both in my real life and the other ones to which I occasionally escape, I prefer people of substance, people who are aware of themselves and the audiences they entertain, and finally, people with the guts - and the proper vocabulary - to articulate what they really think of what I've just said to them.

Sure, my friends happen to be that rare marriage of elegance and raw hotness, they're the kind who'd sooner jump in front of a bus to save the life of an irreplaceable vintage cocktail dress than a Peace Corps clipboarder, and every Friday after work they anticipate the arrival of their Us Weekly far more than they do their Economist, but they're also security clearance holding, foreign language fluent, grad-school educated professionals who are more than capable of engaging in nuanced discussions on typical DC topics like China's ever-increasing influence in the pan-Asian region and the benefits of tax breaks for the rich.

And though I can't personally attest to Scarlett, Cate, Monica, Amy or Penelope's ability to measure up to the real women in my life, I believe the challenging, provocative roles/songs to which they've attached themselves and the intelligent interviews they've granted are proof enough that they, too, are women of both great beauty and great depth.

If there's one bit of wisdom I've held onto from sophomore-year statistics, however, it's that for every seemingly perfect pattern, there are always one or two outliers that - or in this case, who - bring down the strength of your correlation coefficient.

For me, Kim Kardashian is one of those inexplicable outliers.

Despite the fact that she wears too much shiny satin, doesn't exactly exude intelligence, is a documented urolagniac and by virtue of having been BFF with Paris probably has some form of Hepatitis, there's just something about the 26 year old Armenian that makes me want to take her under my wing, teach her how not to make DVF look trashy, buy her a proper bra and seat her in between Cate and Monica at my fantasy dinner party.

Or maybe, just maybe, my interest in Kim is rooted in an unconscious desire to have her come over and organize my closet, because when she's not staying out 'til 4am at Parc or Area or Les Deux, apparently that's what she does for a living -- she organizes closets.

On second thought, I'd better invite Keeley Hazell to this get-together, too.

Popping your premium denim cherry right

"You've inspired me! I am *thinking* of taking the premium denim plunge while taking advantage of the strong dollar/weak peso. There are a few brands down here that are marketed as premium denim, but I am not sure what actually classifies as 'premium' other than expensive. What should I be looking for? Should I take the skinny jean route?

You know my build, I'm a size 2-4 with a 26 inch waist, not much in the hips department, skinny runner legs and a small ass. While I don't have much to hide, I would prefer to look like I have a little more junk in my (almost curveless) trunk."

There comes a point in a woman's life when she recognizes the value - yes value - of investing in premium denim. For my Libertarian-'til-the-end friend, the inimitable Miss C, that day has finally arrived.

The delay in losing your $180-jeans virginity, just as in the real thing, can be attributed to any number of different factors or combination thereof; primary among these are cost (15% rent equivalent), fear (premature deterioration) and a deep-seeded reluctance to admit you are, in fact, that girl.

Having only recently undergone the premium jeans transition myself, I understand and sympathize with all of these concerns. But like those panicky thoughts that ran through your head in the hours following your sophomore Homecoming dance, once you take the plunge and plunk down the hard-saved cash for that first pair of Sevens, Earnest Sewns or J Brand jeans, it's nothing but pleasure-filled Saturdays - or every day, if you're fortunate enough - for the rest of your life.

When it comes to specific brands for specific body types, there are reliable guidelines but very few hard and fast rules. With C's sample-size body type, she can pretty much have her choice of any cut and any brand. As slender and long as her legs are, I'm going to recommend (surprise, surprise) she opt for a fairly low-waisted skinny pair. The low-waist will help balance her slightly shorter torso with her slightly longer pin length, and the skinny cut, in addition to still being very fashion-forward right now, is the best match for flats -- a footwear choice of which I know my friend has a loving penchant. As for brand, I'm going with Paige, because Paige's hallmark on the denim scene is their revolutionary booty-enhancing cut. The pair shown (front and back) is called 'Blue Heights skinny' and is available at Bop, Revolve, Neiman Marcus and countless other boutiques and department stores for approximately $170. My friend M, who is 5'11" in bare feet, hipless and also lacking in the Biel-tastic department, swears by her Paiges, and forcefully reminds me to recommend them to any other woman afflicted with the negative-bah'um syndrome.

I'm not sure which styles and brands to which C has access down there in sunny Buenos Aires, but I truly believe before any premium denim transaction is made - especially that first one - at least one or two all-day sessions in the dressing room doing nothing but trying on pair after pair after pair of jeans is required.

Just like when it comes to men, you don't want to settle down with the first guy who makes you smile. No, you want to wait and see if you can find that one who makes you smile *the most*, that one who has equal parts humility and arrogance, vulnerability and strength, that one who adores watching you do the things you love even though you know he'd rather be somewhere else, and that one who insists on walking on the outside of you and standing up whenever you leave a table.

Just like you wouldn't settle for someone who doesn't make you laugh, don't settle for a pair of jeans that don't make your ass look as J.Lo-worthy as you know it can be.

Keep looking, girls, always keep looking.

Instead of khakis...

Even though most women of my generation consider a pair of well-fitted, dark-wash premium jeans to be just as formal as crosshatch-tweed trousers, it's still the case that most workplaces adhere to a "no denim" policy.

Even on Fridays.

With denim out, what is a casual, comfort-seeking DC woman to wear below the belt?

Corduroys, like khakis, are too high school for any self-respecting 22-and-over to wear to the office. Linen is just too Puerto Vallarta for an urban setting, not to mention that it wrinkles like a bitch. What about terry cloth, sweatpant material or nylon track pants?

You're right, now I'm just mocking.

Since I'm very much not a woman who thinks about comfort when she makes any kind of clothing purchase, and the only considerations I have when picking out a pair of pants are price (for jeans, under $160; for trousers, under $200), length (must be long enough to wear with my 4.5-inch heels) and whether the pair in question makes my ass look as fantastic as it is, the task of putting together a collection of casual, comfortable pants was a bit outside my immediate expertise.

Begrudgingly, I imagined myself in a pair of cuffed, pleated Dockers, looked down, and thought, "Why would I wear these?"

Versatility? Thriftiness? A desire to wear the bottom half of my 7th grade choir uniform? An adversity to looking female?

I tried to meet all of these standards when selecting the trousers below.

Well, not the last one.

Or the second one.

Okay, fine, I only considered versatility.

Below are my picks for the best non-denim alternatives to khaki pants:

Top to bottom:

1. Skinny fit zip pants by GAP ($29.99 at gap.com)

2. Ocean liner trousers by Poleci ($98 at anthropologie.com)

3. Bartolomeu trousers ($118 at anthropologie.com)

4. Contoured trouser-leg chino pant ($78 at bananarepublic.com)

5. Tabatha wide-leg pant by BCBG Max Azria ($218 at bloomingdales.com)

6. Cotton sateen pant by BCBG Max Azria ($118 at macys.com)

7. Cross dye Lindsay bootleg ($88 at anntaylor.com)

8. Peg leg pant by Karen Zambos Vintage ($89.10 at shopbop.com)

To show toe or not to show toe? (pt. I)

That is the question.

Determining appropriate wear-to-work footwear is a controversial, subjective science.

The variables not only include particulars of the shoe - heel height, color, material and style - but particulars of its wearer - job industry, choice of outfit and body type - as well.

Let me start with flats tonight (and continue with heels tomorrow), since they are a much less complex, much less volatile issue than their lankier counterparts.

It may not seem necessary to provide an operational definition of what a flat is, but since I've only recently been informed that "anything below a three-inch stiletto" is not an accurate description, I feel compelled to be specific. A flat, for the purposes of this analysis, is a shoe without a heel. A skimmer, a ballet slipper, a flip-flop -- these are all examples.

Now, clearly, a flip-flop or any other kind of summer sandal that wedges your first two toes apart or shows any side-skin is never okay to wear to the office. Not even in the elevator going up to your office. Walking to work, fine, I suppose, but even then, I tend to think we should have higher standards for ourselves as professional women with mid-to-high level incomes. For the rest of the flat styles out there, there are very few moves you can make that would result in a penalty flag (i.e. bitchy glances from female co-workers). The shoe shown above right (Youth flat by Pella Moda, $129.95 at zappos.com) is about as risky as you can get and still be in the professional green zone. The non-aggressive shade of cherry red is acceptable, but the peeptoe, for some women, especially women in DC, would disqualify this flat because it violates the staunch no-toe-at-any-time rule. An example of a perfectly acceptable style but oh-no color would be the gold-foil Minnie slingback flat by Stuart Weitzman above left ($215 at nordstrom.com). Super cute with skinny jeans and a cropped blazer at Paulo's in Georgetown for aperitifs, this shoe is just much too much flash-and-disco for a place with wall-to-wall carpeting. Even if paired with a completely muted ensemble, my answer to shiny metallics is still "no."

Surprising to some may be my assertion that wild-printed, loud-colored ballet flats are perfectly fine for an office setting. As with any other outfit component, though, if you choose to be vibrant in one area, you must temper that choice with restraint in every other area. If you wanted to wear these Tula zebra-print ballet flats ($159.95 at jcrew.com), for example, I'd say fine, go ahead, but make sure you're wearing black trousers (not a skirt -- showing their strappyness would be inappropriate), and a simple high-neckline top in either black, white, or red. The key word here is "simple" -- let the shoe and the shoe alone be your power source.

One final rule for flats involves your trouser cut. The beloved black and white tweed trousers that drape perfectly over your four-inch black round-toed pumps with bow-accents are not going to cooperate as nicely with a pair of black round-toed flats with bow-accents like those above left (Paleo patent leather flat by Ann Klein, $82.95 at zappos.com). So don't try to make them cooperate. You'll just end up shortening their lifespan by embedding the cuffs with city street debris and premature-fray. My advice is, if you find that magical pair of trousers that make your bottom look Bieltastic, buy two pairs and get one tailored to hit just right for flats. Problem solved.

Tomorrow, it's onto heels.

And more deep-knee-bend squats in the gym.

"Not tonight, boys, not tonight."

Last night, I checked my snarky fashion judgment at the door. Too busy shaking my Biel-to-be bottom with my partner in crime (its her hotness in the black sequins), I barely even noticed the girl in the crocheted cardigan and Annie perm. Or the one who forgot to shave AND smuggled an entire pan of muffins in her sleeveless white mesh top.

No, last night, I just snacked on miniature cupcakes, drank high-class beer, and flagrantly disobeyed the invitation's casual dresscode.

Here's a morning - um, afternoon - toast to carrying the minidress into '07!

(photo courtesy of Will "happiness is all science" Wilkinson)

I'm aware my bah'um doesn't look like hers

There are some mornings when I wake up convinced my lower half looks like Jessica Biel's. I have about 6 mirrors in my studio apartment, 1 of which is about 8 feet tall, 4 feet wide, and greets me at my front door. As inanimate as it is, that mirror is partly to blame for my bloated ego. Tipped back ever so slightly, it elongates my frame just enough to make me think I'm 5"9 (I'm 5"7) and 120 lbs (I'm not that). Some days I remember not to believe what I see, and some days I don't. When it comes down to it, though, I know even on my best day, Jessica's glorious bottom extends out at least an inch farther than mine. Maybe an inch and a half. I find solace in the small things -- that I'd have chosen a less taupe-colored shoe, for example. But my point is, some mornings I feel that I do look Jessica Biel good. If I've worked out for a few consecutive days, kept to my healthy diet of veggie burgers, fruit roll-ups and frosting, and not had more than say, 4 beers that week, I'm ready to walk into Smith Point and steal some preppy blonde thunder. Today, however, is not one of those days. Yesterday wasn't, and I'm pretty sure tomorrow won't be, either. Normally, I would stress over such an acute drop in confidence, but in this case, there is no mystery as to what's causing it. In this case, the culprit is simply being at home. Grateful as I am to live in close proximity to four stocked refrigerators, a drawer filled with 12 bags (I counted) of baked cheddar Chex Mix, and as far as I can tell, a smiling Santa candy dish on every available surface, the excess is literally killing my ass. The collusion between gravity and laziness has caused at least an inch drop in my pigu since I arrived on Thursday. That puts Jessica a good 2 inches ahead of me. Whatever, she's just a stupid Hollywood bitch, anyway. Bet she only reads the Leaders in the Economist.

When people ask me (and they don't) what I think my biggest asset is, I do a quick mental shuffle among my many favorites but always come up with the same answer: my awareness. Awareness applies to most everything in life. Be aware of the company you're in when you see a fat person tip over on a Segway and you can't stop tittering. Be aware of your audience when you put on the new leggings, cashmere minidress, and almond-toed stiletto boots you got from shopbop.com after your bonus check cleared. Be aware of how annoying it is to other people when you say things like, "I only worked out for an hour yesterday -- should I skip lunch?" Not everyone thinks fat is funny, not everyone reads Marie Claire's style guide, and not everyone's life goal is to look Biel-tastic in a black crocheted Alessandro Dell'Acqua sweater dress.

In short, not everyone is me.