Elara linen top by Roland Mouret
$1,140 at net-a-porter.com
23 July 2007
"Where is my GD mother?"
Sorry to trick you all - Monte, included - into thinking I was back in full blogging force with my post late last night. That was just the intersection of my shrimp-'n'-grits-'n'-four-Stellas buzz, not being able to contain my excitement over my new toiletry discoveries and my well-known inability to stay away for more than a 48-hour period.
Let's try this again, shall we?
I'll see you here tomorrow morning, bright, early, tinted-skinned and glossy-haired!
(scrumptious photo of the piddlebum courtesy of B)
22 July 2007
Too good not to share
When not-wholly-unfortunate genetics and proper upkeep collide, I think you'll agree with me when I assert that skin and hair are a woman's most showstopping features.
And unlike Eva's shoulders, Carrie's thighs, Marisa's stomach or Kate's cheekbones, glowing, even-toned skin and shiny, healthy hair are two of the only goals for which every woman, every morning has the potential not just to attain in her 20s but to maintain throughout her 30s, 40s, 50s and beyond as well.
Now I rarely advocate specific beauty products on this site, and contrary to what you might think, it's not because I like to keep such secrets well, secret, but rather that I don't deign to think those items that work best for me - on my befreckled olive complexion, in my stick-straight short hair, with my this-inspired "look" - would do much for those whose looks and preferences aren't perfectly aligned with my own.
But as I did in ordering these Jill Stuart Astrid sandals (in gold) without waiting for a final markdown, for the second time in just as many days I feel compelled to break one of my rules and recommend to you all two truly outstanding products of which I currently only have samples but courtesy of the Blue Mercury in Dupont Circle - the establishment responsible for introducing me to these beauty-routine-revolutionizing products - I will soon have their full-sized, 1.7 oz and 4 oz counterparts.
The first of the two, a tinted moisturizer from the dermatologist-developed skincare line M.D. Skincare, has been so effective in its ability to even out my skin tone that for the past three days I have successfully pared down my three-step, three-product moisturizer-foundation-concealer process to a one-step, one-product application. On the first two occasions I used this moisturizer, I had to wash two ready-to-be-applied dots of unused concealer down the drain, because much to my surprise (and delight), even my "trouble spots" (under and around the nose, the base of my chin and two small stubborn discolorations above my left eyebrow) had been completely dismissed.
On the third day, this morning, I learned my lesson and didn't even reach for my miracle-in-a-tube.
It's that good. It's that time-saving. And it comes in five subtle shades, ranging from Dita to Kerry.
All-In-One Tinted Moisturizer by M.D. Skincare ($42 at sephora.com)The second recommendation I would like to put forth hails from Frederic Fekkai, a styling line I used to indulge in back before I re-prioritized my spending and gave up all luxury items that weren't clothing, shoes, alcohol or dog-related. Up until a few days ago, I had been a long-time, die-hard Redken 'Heat Glide' girl when it came to my protective pre-blowout product, and for good reason in that it did its job -- my hair never looked fried, never felt fried and overall, I had a much healthier sheen than when I used no product at all.
But this stuff, 'Glossing Cream' it's called, oh my God, it's like nothing else I've ever rubbed between my palms and given an even shimmy through my not-too-damp-not-too-dry locks. Not only does it attach more evenly to the front, back, top and undersides of my Posh-bob when it's wet (ensuring a perfect, all-over sleek effect) but it also helps make more manipulable my often obstinate, split-down-the-middle-inclined sideswept fringe.
It, too, is that good.
Glossing cream by Frederic 
20 July 2007
Off to practice my treating-children-like-children skills
Truth be told, even if I weren't Amtrakking down to the land of NASCAR this weekend for my inaugural visit to my mini-me niece, I would still take the next three days off from updating this site.
Why, you ask?
Because like every other 11 year old, grandfather, housewife, K St. lobbyist and DC-Madam-employed lady of the night, once I impatiently rip my pre-ordered 784-page last installment from the mitts of whichever Borders employee happens to say to me, "Next customer, please" tonight at midnight, I'm going to have this face stuck in this book until every last question is answered and every last loose-end is tied up to my satisfaction.
See y'all tonight in line at the Borders on 19th/K or back here next Tuesday morning!
19 July 2007
Not just a message for Tara Reid
Like the rest of you, I too was initially horrified when these pics of Tara Reid and her butchered stomach surfaced on the Internet.
The more I thought about it - and yes, looked at it - the horror, however, soon began to transition into pity and finally, acceptance. Regardless of how short-sighted her decision was to essentially drink and skank herself out of what might have been a promising film career (I have a you-had-so-much-potential! cringe every time I see The Big Lebowski), this is a girl who will for the rest of her life see the words "and her wonky stomach" printed next to her name.
Does she have the right to wear a bikini looking like a jacked-up cadaver? I think so. I mean, I certainly wouldn't, but I suppose that since her plastic surgery nightmare made the talk-show circuit and a few covers of widely-circulated magazines earlier this year, her boldness to show it all off can serve as a there's-life-after-disfigurement example to other women in the same unenviable position.
But not a second after I'd entered into the virgin territory that was taking Tara Reid more seriously, these snaps had to come along and vitiate all that progress:
This is a faux pas for which I have absolutely no patience, nor sympathy. Whether your breasts are real or fake, throwing them into a sheer green tube dress with nary a hint of built-in support better mean they are (1) perky, (2) relatively symmetrical AND (3) have either nipples impervious to hardening when a sudden decrease in temperature arises, or affixed to each a preventive nipple-petal.
As you can see above, Tara comes in at 0-3.
Unlike a beach excursion where a woman's what-to-wear options are inextricably linked to her desire to minimize tan lines, on the red carpet, no such limits exist -- there is no justification for a woman to strut out in a dress like this one that drew what I imagine was a massive amount of unwanted attention to her my-surgeon-really-f**ked-it-up rack when she easily could have avoided it with a fuller-coverage neckline and an up-top undergarment.
I'll be the first to applaud a woman who says she's found her own personal style, but I'll give a private lapdance and a cupcake-suitcase full of Funfetti-frosted treats to the one who tells me she's able to identify within that preferred style the looks that most flatter her frame.
We can't all wear a mini, we can't all wear lowrise jeans and we can't all go braless in a wafer-thin lurex tube dress -- a message for us all, not just poor, poor Tara.
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