Forgive me.

Tomorrow, the follow-up. I promise.

Until then...

Happy weekend - video edition

While tooling around with my fancy Canon after work today, I made like Jasmine and discovered a whole new world with this precious little video camera!

Granted, since I have such limited memory, the maximum footage available to me is only about 17 seconds and thus not sufficient for much more than a "Hello, here's my puppy, here's my less-icy-than-you-were-expecting voice" intro, but after I make a quick visit to Best Buy this weekend and stock up on some more GBs, I promise to make more style-related use of this fantastic new medium.

And I also promise to work on my understanding of light and how a lack thereof can almost completely blacken out even the palest of pale Winter complexions.

So without further ado, here's my little junebug making the "I've seen cuter" commenter from Wednesday look like an asscrack while his Mother looks on and silently berates herself for wearing a ribbed workout tank in her video debut:

May-jah Friday ('80s as inspiration edition)

With all the recent contention as to how worthwhile a contribution stereotypical '80s style has made to the current fashion landscape, I thought it only appropriate to dedicate today's May-jah Friday to the ten years that, in my opinion, yielded the most indulgently enjoyable music, movies and television.

And some of the most fun albeit not so universally flattering color schemes and cuts.

Inspired by one of my favorite songs, one of my all-time favorite cinematic scenes (those shoulders!) and one of my favorite groups of gorgeous cartoon sass-kittens, here is veritable proof, like it or not, that the 1980s are still very much with us.

Enjoy.

"Missing you" (John Waite)

Boyfriend blazer by Elizabeth & James
($395 at saks.com)

Rolled collar blouse by Cynthia Rowley
($275 at shopbop.com)Sleek jean by Rich & Skinny
($160 at ronherman.com)Daran peep-toe pump by L.A.M.B.
($335 at eluxury.com)

"Flashdance" (Jennifer Beals' best moment)

Bib-front top with bow by 3.1 Phillip Lim
(£245 at brownsfashion.com)
Pencil skirt by Teri Jon
($180 at nordstrom.com)'Wink & Whisper' seamed fishnets by Victoria's Secret
($15 at victoriassecret.com)
'Corta' patent pump by Christian Louboutin
($675 at saks.com)

"Truly Outrageous" (Jem & The Misfits)*

Fashion star earrings
($4.99 at shopintuition.com)Convertible tunic by Shelly Steffe
($144 at shopbop.com)

Lamé leggings by American Apparel
($40 at americanapparel.net)

Tri-color stiletto by Alessandro Dell'Acqua
($585 at shopbop.com)

*while running into someone in DC wearing this get-up would surely give me the giddies, the answer is a resounding no, I, myself, would not wear any of its components, save for those delicious Dell'Acquas.
**this marks my 1,750th post - I sincerely thank all of you for your continued readership and er, colorful commenting!

Forgive me, readers, for I actually like a D&G dress...

Some guilty confessions and surprising realizations I can't keep to myself any longer:

After seeing this dress on both Revolve and Saks' websites and then triple-checking with the Google that my eyes didn't, in fact, deceive me, I have to concede I am no longer able to say I hate everything Domenico Dolce and Stefano Gabbana have ever designed. It hurts, but that's life. On the bright side, it's not like I don't still have Roberto Cavalli and Beyoncé to rely on for consistent production of makes-me-wince clothing. I've contemplated these Dell'Acqua's as a 'Sugar Daddy' offering since the day they debuted in Bop's designer boutique over a month ago, but for some reason I've hesitated. I guess I just didn't want to deal with all the "but I thought you hated ankle straps" and "with your calves you really oughtn't wear an ankle strap" comments their presence on my blog was sure to elicit. I'm not sure whether it's their prick-point toe, their intermixed colors and materials or their sneaky, hidden platform that has me tilting my head and sighing each time I look at them, but whatever it is, I'm no longer hiding from the world that I likey these a lotty.
I want a jumpsuit. Or playsuit. Whatever this sexy, space-cadet looking thing is called, I want it, and I wanna wear it with five-inch matte-metallic heels and one of those crazy, super-structured Balenciaga jackets. Not to work or to a wedding, of course, but maybe to cocktails at the Mayflower...God, how I love the crowd at Town & Country on a weeknight...
For only the second time in my life, I'm finding it hard to deny that a dress made of nothing but black leather can actually be sexy in a non-streetwalker sense. I crave this little number in the worst way, but knowing my luck it's probably not only another Dolce & Gabbana anomaly but also so outlandishly expensive even HRL would hesitate.
After seeing this interview, I actually feel guilty for liking Katie as much as I do. Or did, rather. Her story sure is an intoxicating one, but its novelty quickly fell to the floor when I had no choice but to accept that there isn't an ounce of wry humor, charm or playful beguile about her -- just a bunch of sophisticated knits, Nicole Richie sunglasses and biannual haircuts. Such a shame...


Any fashion-related confessions you'd like to share?

The most gracious gift a bride can give (no guys, not *that*)

Lifetime's best offering since "The Babysitter's Seduction"

Don't ask me why, because I'm not sure I could offer much in the way of an explanation, but I spent nine-tenths of my time this past weekend rediscovering my slothful side by taking in hours (and hours) of the deliciously vapid fare on which the Lifetime Network -and if you have mega cable, the Lifetime Movie Network (LMN) as well- has built its sterling reputation.

In stunning, before-they-were-famous performances I haven't seen since the days of dancing fingertips-to-shoulders to Firehouse ballads, Montesquieu and I spent the last three days in a perma-spoon watching Kirsten Dunst bitch it up prenatal-style in 15 and Pregnant, Keri Russell bikini her way into bed with Reverend Camden in The Babysitter's Seduction, Hilary Swank naïvely walk into a web of deadly sorority hijinx spun by Zach "campus reporter" Morris in Dying to Belong and Elizabeth Berkeley fight her urge for flannel-shirted boy flesh in Student Seduction.

If only we'd caught one or both of Meredith Baxter Birney's turns as scorned housewife Betty Broderick, it would've been the perfect weekend.

Once the PM set in on Sunday and the classic early '90s movies with themes of teenage motherhood and homewrecking were about to give way to newer, more socially sensitive pieces on human trafficking and (yawn) the homeless getting into Harvard, Monte nudged me hard in the kidney and shot me a "Mum, change it now" look.

But just as my newly-burgundied nails reached for the remote, a very familiar and very fabulous voice filled the room.

I'd recognize that spirited, sssss-heavy enunciation anywhere -- it belonged to none other than "Queer Eye's" resident style savant, Carson Kressley.

In one 79-second clip from the premiere of his new Lifetime show, "How to Look Good Naked," Carson summed up why, over the past 13 months, I've dedicated pretty much every waking moment of my non-working life to the cause of helping DC women pay closer attention to the way they dress.

Add one more to the Tivo Season Pass...

Still time to Tivo!

Today (Monday, January 14th)

Katie on "Good Morning America": ABC, sometime between 7-9am

Katie on "Live! with Regis & Kelly": ABC, approximately 9:20am

Katie on "Late Night with Dave Letterman": CBS, approximately 11:50pmGoing bare-legged in New York in January makes me go hmmm...

To end your work week on a strong, sexy note (or three)

A perfect three-song start to your next strut-to-work-in-heels iMix:

"Boys wanna be her" by Peaches


"Kiss you off" by Scissor Sisters


"Paralyzer" by Finger Eleven

Happy weekend,

J

The sidewalk-to-catwalk iMix (Vol. III)

Thanks to conscientious reader F, I didn't absentmindedly skip October's update of the always fun to piece together sidewalk-to-catwalk iMix as I did last month.

In its first two iterations, the S-t-C iMix was a thoughtfully put together group of five or six songs meant to add a spring to your lunchtime step, something to serve as an inspiration not to reach for those sturdy sneakers or easy flip-flops and instead strut your way up to the Cosi salad counter in true, stiletto-ed feminine form.

In this third installment, however, I've shaken things up by creating less of a heel-meets-pavement fem-empowerment collection and instead just cobbling together whatever it is I happen to be into right now, which, as you'll see below doesn't really make a whole lot of cohesive sense.

Without further ado, your peek inside my iPod...

"Gimme More" by Britney Spears

"The Look" by Roxette

"Groovejet (if this ain't love)" by DJ Spiller ft. Sophie Ellis Bextor

"Oh Sherry" by Steve Perry (aka "the voice")

"Do Anything" by Natural Selection

And even though this song doesn't have its own music video (its hook in the always-on-TV American Gangster trailer doesn't really count), it still holds down the sixth and final track of my latest S-t-C collection.

Miss me, mmm'kay?

Off to a conference 'til Friday!

I do apologize for not telling you sooner, but I figured it'd be less painful this way. You know, like a bullet to the back of the head instead of contracting Ebola?

And speaking of bullets to the head, I so strongly suggest you drag your boyfriend, girlfriend, parent or whomever to go see the new Jet Li, Jason Statham film War, now out in theaters. In addition to the absolute hotness of Li's emotionless elimination of anyone and anything that gets in his way, you'll also get to see the trailer for what promises to be - after Shoot 'Em Up - my favorite action film of the year. Between Bellucci and Kurylenko, the cinematic second half of 2007 looks like it's gonna shape up pretty darn well.

Trailers I & II for Hitman (relase date, November 21st):

Technical difficulties

Because Blogspot wouldn't let me upload any pictures last night (or this morning), I'm going to hold off on posting this morning's piece on the professional woman's back-to-school backpack (read: backpack = handbag) until the geniuses that are Blog and Spot can get their sh*t together.

Maybe by lunch, maybe not.

Until then, enjoy the trailers of two of my favorite lesser well-known films - Chopper and Sexy Beast - both of which I saw solo back in the day at the Avon's discounted midnight showing, both of which boast heavyset, unscrupulous men whose allures I've not been able to shake in seven years and both of which are such good cinematic rides they rightly deserve to bump 300 to take top billing in your NetFlix queue.

Enjoy. And check back at lunch!

Chopper (2000):

Sexy Beast (2000):

I think I'm done relating to her

Blake is the best man in the world. We would never ever harm each other... I was cutting myself after he found me in our room about to do drugs with a call girl and rightly said I wasn't good enough for him. I lost it and he saved my life.

(Amy Winehouse, in a text to Perez Hilton, explaining the bloody "spat" she and husband Blake Fielder-Civil had early Thursday morning)

After a solid six months and change, I think I'm sorta done with my Amy Winehouse phase.

I still love her sound, still appreciate and give a sincere "girl, I feel you" to her "Tears dry on their own" lyrics and will still recommend her freshman effort, "Back to Black," to anyone looking for an album they can listen to all the way through without skipping a track, but as for my girl crush - and the twisted desire I had deep down to live a bit of her sordid, strung-out life - I think I'm done.

Unlike the Kate and Pete adventure, Amy and Blake's is much less glamorous to look at (Ms. Moss would never show her face post-squabble without having first touched-up her makeup), much less despite-the-drugs-they-do-seem-right-for-each-other and much less likely to spiral into a situation involving a settling of differences with razorblades, methorexic fists, a call girl and shards of glass from an innocent fifth of Wild Turkey.

Cross your fingers that Amy, her giant hair, tiny waist and signature doo-wop sound somehow make it back into rehab and back into the studio to record another fantastic set of songs. We can't let her devolve into the Lauryn Hill redux. We just can't.

In the meantime, to end your Friday on a less wrist-slitting note, enjoy Blogspot's newest video-adding feature and check out how blasé my pup is when someone other than his Mum showers him with affection:

'Cause I got Britain on me mind today...

Thank goodness for this picture.

After Sienna's multiple WTF appearances in Rome last week, I was prepared to accept the fact that one of my very favorite style darlings had taken not just a dip in the crazy pool but a full-on off-the-high-dive bellyflop thereinto.

But here (sigh of relief), yesterday, at the Tribeca Grand Hotel for the New York City premiere of her new Steve Buscemi-helmed film, Interview, she didn't just redeem herself in this prim, proper and perfectly-fitted black Chanel strapless sheath with a lace-overlay bustline, pencil-skirt and patent-leather cinch, she sent my expectations soaring into territories just shy of Cate Blanchettown.* I mean, who knew the befreckled, swears-like-a-sailor London lass who not only usually epitomizes that whole boho-chic look but frankly, was the co-inspiration therefor with these two back in the Summer of 2005, had it in her to transform from this (just hours before the premiere) into the polished lady I see here.

In fact, the only thing I can think of that looks better than Sienna in this dress is Interview itself:

*she would have made there, had she chosen these shoes (in black) instead...

"To walk away I have no capacity..."

Just released yesterday, here is Amy Winehouse's David LaChapelle-directed video for my favorite track - "Tears dry on their own" - off her freshman album, Back to Black. Listening to this just-walk-away croon isn't as comforting to me as it was say, before Amy married the man who ripped her heart out and inspired some of the most painfully familiar lyrics to which this girl has ever sung along. It's no wonder, in only four months on my iPod, this track burned past longstanding top-played songs to now land at number seven on my 'Top 25 Most Played' playlist with 243 listens.

Girl's lookin' awfully skinny here, but boy, can she belt it out:

In keeping with the Parker Posey theme...

Because I didn't leave my desk for more than 10 minutes today and because no celebrity blog cared enough to post pictures from the Broken English premiere (from the tiny thumbprint-sized photos I found on WireImage, Posey wore an eh short-sleeved black and red printed satin wrap dress that hit past mid-calf), I thought that instead of railing against the giant toenails and skirts-'n'-sneaker combos waiting to greet me on my way to Hump Day Happy Hour, I'd entertain you all with a few minutes of inspirational sarcasm from your, my and everyone's favorite pseudo-bitch.

Yes, that's right, inspirational.

Enjoy.

Best in Show

Dazed and Confused

And the scene from The House of Yes that prompted the comparison:

"Some people want magic...I think you are one of those people."

Since today is the final day of the season during which we're all supposed to fall overwhelmingly, passionately, even recklessly in love, I thought I'd take a quick detour from all things fashion and inject some hopeful, just-follow-your-heart-edness into this grim, drizzly DC hump day (update: I just went outside and it is neither the grim nor drizzly day it was when I walked to work this morning, but as far as I know it is still hump day).

One of my favorite in-bed exchanges involved a man saying to me, "Parker Posey would totally play you."

"Play me?"

"Yeah, if they ever make a movie about your life, she would play you. Hands down."

I don't know if this person still thinks about that exchange - probably not - but I certainly do and probably always will. Not because I think anyone will ever make a movie about me one day - I'm self-indulgent but not that self-indulgent - but more so because no one had ever planted the idea in my head before. Now, every time I see Parker in a film, whether it pre-dates that conversation or not, whether she plays a braces-bedecked demon wench or a mentally unstable Jackie Onassis fanatic, I can't help but imagine it is myself, my life, up there on-screen.

And in her newest film, Broken English, my inclination to live vicariously through her character - this time, it's Nora Wilder, a woman in her early-30s who finds herself romantically jaded, professionally indifferent but steadfastly resistant to settling - looks especially tempting.

To be a voyeur into that ideal world where falling in love is as passionately intense as it is goofy and giggle-filled* and for the opportunity to see Parker Posey demonstrate all sides of her oft underestimated multi-talent, forget A Mighty Heart and see Broken English this Friday.

It'll totally be worth the trip to NYC/LA.


*I also recommend Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind for this

The standard has been set

As much as I like to believe - and usually do believe - everything I read on Wonkette, there was a post on their site today linked to from Jezebel in which an unnamed writer crowned Obama the early victor in "luring" the votes of "the elusive slutty anxious female demographic," a determination that even after reading the entirety of the "article" I found as baseless and confusing as Cameron Diaz's continued inclusion on any list associated with the word "sexy" and without the words "buttaface gnome."

It's hard to fathom a media outlet that can in one breath speak the sobering truth and report that former Austrian president Kurt Waldheim "choked to death on the devil’s cock" and then turn around and link to - i.e. promote as the truth - as grossly subjective a piece as the one mentioned above. Not only is this calling the game a wee bit before the final inning but it's also putting forth an argument that is precariously hinged on the assumption there doesn't exist an even larger contingent of even sluttier and even more anxious females who are in the throes of creating their own "I gotta crush on Giuliani/Gilmore/McCain/Brownback/Huckabee/etc." YouTube-able streams.

Sure, this 'Obama Girl' may have hit the jackpot with a candidate whose first and last names are easily pliable into both dirty-sounding verbs and nouns, but if for example, I were tasked to put together such a project for my GOP hardbody of choice, what with his wholesome background coupled with my porn-distracted mind and four-Kaplan-courses-worth-of-flashcard-enhanced vocabulary, some seriously salacious video magic could be made.

It would start, as most good things do, with the intoxicating melody of Silk's early-'90s classic "Freak Me." Following, "Flavor-of-Love"-worthy outfits and a whole lot of the kind of outlining-the-hips-with-both-palms writhing you find every Thursday through Saturday at MCCXXIII. Then, an assembly of random urban backdrops like public fountains, the L'enfant Plaza metro (D St. entrance), that Thai restaurant over in the U St. corridor and a block of PennAve that's populated entirely by thick-waisted Dads in suits from the Men's Wearhouse. After all that's nailed down, it's just peripheral tasks: casting average-looking office boys who have good "you're way hotter than I am" expressions, getting down pat the talking-dirty-with-the-eyes look (see profile pic -- almost there), tracking down and poster-ifying a shirtless photo of candidate Rom-it-in-me (hey, I'm still working on it), and finally, finding a bikini that is both patriotic and rack-flattering for those all-important split-screens.

The lyrics? Oh right...lyrics. Well, I'll just have to take the template I created back in 1987 for Wyoming's at-large congressional district election, tone it down - waaaay down - and start from there.

'Obama Girl' might want her candidate to bah-rock her all night long, but make no mistake, there are plenty of red-state Romney girls out there who want to be mitt-mitt-Mitt'n that ass just as hard and just as dirty.

But I must give props to whomever came up with the "You're into border security/now let's break down the border between you and me" lyric. That shit's poetry.

The little-bit-of-sunshine blouse (pt.II)

For the blouse that won't make you look a decade younger but might help you recall a time when TGIF stood for boy-crazy sleepovers and a solid two-hour punch of "Perfect Strangers" "Full House," "Mr. Belvedere," and "Just the Ten of Us".

Ladies, your little-bit-of-sunshine blouses, almost none of which, unfortunately, would be considered work-appropriate in these parts:

Gouache top by Idra ($58 at anthropologie.com)

Teleflora tee by Porridge ($78 at anthropologie.com)
Electric cherry blouse by Sonia ($225 azaleaonline.com)

Elastic tee by Geren Ford ($228 at shopbop.com)*

Scarab flutter top by Tibi ($210 at activeendeavors.com)

Silk market top by Talla ($80 at activeendeavors.com)

Heart keyhole-sleeve top by Rebel Yell ($120 at irissinger.com) Heart print roxy top by Deborah Sweeney ($110 at ronherman.com)

Ava babydoll blouse by Jovavich-Hawk ($350 at ronherman.com)

Bunny print bubble-sleeve top by Lux ($24.99 at urbanoutfitters.com)*

*your editrix's top picks

10 reasons to love Natalie Portman

10. This crinkled-satin lucite-halter mini by Lanvin (charity event, 2007)

9. She loves dogs, America and evening sandals all in the same breath

8. She brings out a healthy dose of humility in every woman

7. She turned down ScarJo's breakout role

6. She has a degree (I said I was an education-ist)

5. She left Jude Law's cheating ass in Closer

4. This movie. Her character. That airport ending.

3. No one rocks make-up free and bald more beautifully

2. This gunmetal plunge gown by Lanvin (Academy Awards, 2005)

1. She spits dirtier rhyme than Bubba Sparxx

'Twas not meant to be.

I shouldn't have done it. There was no point, nothing to be gained other than an assured rejection of the most painful sort.

I knew before I picked up the phone and crafted in my head just the right way to ask that one question that doing so would only thrust my self-pity to the next level of since-when-do-I-not-get-what-I-want? depression.

But of course I did it, anyway. I called him. He answered on the second ring. He was friendly, but only mildly so and in a very because-I-have-no-choice kind of way. We both recognized it. The conversation lasted no more than a few minutes, the vast majority of which belonged to the various permutations of my knew-the-answers-but-asked-them-anyway questions delivered with a holding-back-tears shake of the voice.

"Over? Like totally over?"

"I'm afraid so."

"But last week everything was fine, we were together and it was...it was spiritual. It was beyond spiritual. There was this connection, and it..."

"Yes, but last week was last week, and this week is this week."

"But I love..."

"I know, and it was a perfect fit, but..."

"How often does a perfect fit happen? Tell me, how often?"

"Rarely, but that's not the issue now. You need to move on and find..."

"But I don't want to find another. I want th..."

"There'll always be another season, another chance to find..."

"Look, you don't understand. They were it for me. And now you're telling me they're gone and you're never getting another shipment? Never??"

"I'm sorry, but we work on a season by season basis, and once the line is sold-out, we..."

"I understand. I mean, I don't, but I...so you're telling me someone else has my shoes? My shoes? I...I can't even..."

"I do apologize. At least you have the pict..."

"A picture? You think a picture is going to fill the...look, I have to go. This is too upsetting for me to discuss right now."

(click)

And thus ended my one-sided love affair with the perfect shoe I knew from the moment it caught me eye - and I caught an eyeful of its almost-half-my-rent pricetag - could never be mine. I know, I know, I should have seen it coming. I should've taken more seriously the "Within the day, for sure" answer to my "Do you think these will go quickly?" question I posed to the salesman, but as I always do, I left Hu's Shoes last Sunday blindly convinced they'd show up one unexpected afternoon in a white stretch limo with a long-stemmed rose bunch poking out of the sunroof while an Italian aria beckoned me to my half-open window and proved true my belief in fateful meetings with an "I'm here! I love you! Let's go to Library and show ourselves off!" happily-ever-after pronouncement.

But in the end, I'm not a former prostitute and the Maison Martin Margiela ankle-bangle stilettos aren't Richard Gere. And like doomed love affairs of the human variety, sometimes woman-shoe love just 'twasn't meant to be. Yes, 'twasn't.

Sorry, E, I know you told me to turn off the weepy music and stop wasting my youth and sass on self-pity, but this is different. This isn't him, this is them.

And my heart is inconsolably broken, begging for Damien Rice: