Auntie Fashion

The Evil AntiZob

Since I started this blog almost two years ago, I’ve spent a lot of time ranting about the Evil AntiZob and his cult of personality.  Yet I never thought that I’d see the day when the so-called fashion designer would admit that he’s leading a cult.  I guess I was wrong.

In an interview with the Times of London, Jacobs told the newspaper “There’s this huge cult following of almost crazy people at Vuitton who just want whatever they buy to be exclusive.”

“Almost crazy”?  I was on an escalator the other day when I noticed the woman in front of me was carrying a Louis Vuitton bag that nearly hypnotized me with its hideousness.  I couldn’t take my eyes off of it, like a black bra under a white blouse or an episode of “The Real Housewives.”  But as a devotee of the Evil AntiZob, this poor woman needed to display her allegiance to the leader.  As the saying goes, she already drank the Kool-Aid.

Anyway, now that Jacobs has admitted that he’s running a cult, it should be easier for me to go about my own business without fearing that my every move is being closely monitored by the brainwashed minions of the Evil AntiZob.

This must be how Nicole Kidman felt on the day she divorced Tom Cruise.  Ahhh!

Caninja

According to Wired, American bloggers must either fess up or shut up when they review products that they’ve received for free.

“Gadget bloggers and Amazon.com reviewers now must disclose freebies and financial interests or face fines up to $11,000, according to rules announced by federal regulators Monday in an attempt to make word-of-mouth endorsements on the net easier to believe.“

I guess I’m behind this ruling introduced by the Federal Trade Commission.  People should know when an opinion has been purchased, whatever currency it’s been paid in.  It won’t affect me, anyway, not only because I’m Canada, but also because I never let anyone send me anything.  I’m afraid that if I give out my address, my nemesis, the Evil AntiZob, will discover my whereabouts and hunt me down like prey.

That reminds me of something.  In a temporary moment of weakness, I gave Adrienne Butikofer my address.  She said that she wanted to send me a Caninja winter hat, and I accepted her offer graciously.  Now I’m worried that she might be a secret operative sent by Marc Jacobs to silence me before I can give the Louis Vuitton ready-to-wear collection another bad runway review.

I’m just not sure if I can trust this girl.  On one hand she’s an Aries, like most of my sworn enemies.  On the other hand she’s from Winnipeg, and we all know that being born within a 1000 km radius of Moose Jaw imparts an individual with both innate goodness and impeccable taste.  That’s just science!

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a Louis Vuitton show to watch.

The Evil AntiZob 

Those words aren’t mine.  I read them on The Cut where they’re reporting (via the Daily News) that enemy-to-all-that-is-beautiful Marc Jacobs has signed on to star in a reality show.  Supposedly, the program is going to be a gay version of “The Real Housewives of New York City” called “Kept“.

Now I adore reality television, although I prefer the competitive reality shows over the candid genre.  Nevertheless, I know that filming a reality show takes time — time that someone who is designing a handful of collections shouldn’t have.  If Marc Jacobs was a real fashion designer, he would barely be able to breathe in between sketches.  But he’s not a fashion designer.  He’s a supervillain who leads an army of brainwashed minions that worship at his altar.  They do the work; he takes the credit.

I suppose I wouldn’t be so harsh on him if he did something to make me believe that there’s more to the man than the cult of personality.  He could go on “The Amazing Race,” for instance, or join the cast of “Dancing with the Stars.”  Instead we’re going to be treated to an insider’s glimpse of how truly fabulous his life is.  Lucky us!  I can’t wait to see him smoking and tanning and smoking some more.

I need a drink.

Marc Jacobs

Just when I thought that the Evil AntiZob couldn’t make women look any lumpier . . .

Whether we like it or not, economy is one of the prevailing themes of New York Fashion Week.  Most designers are scaling back their runway collections in order to ensure that they present their point of view clearly and concisely to their target consumers.

But not Marc Jacobs.  He showed us piles and piles of junk.  As Nicole Phelps of style.com wrote, “This show didn’t hold together the way his brilliant collection of a year ago did, but that may have been the point.”

So let me get this right.  Showing a scattered, incoherent mess of garments overstyled to the extreme was the point?  Although there may have been some standout individual pieces in this show, who would have known?  Crap was piled on top of crap until the models looked like clowns.  It was at least as ridiculous as last year’s show where the bustled prairie skirts drew rave reviews from a pack of critics who wouldn’t wear the clothes on a bet.

I’ll never understand the industry’s fascination with this man and his work.  We rarely hesitate to slap the faces of designers who can neither edit nor present a coherent artistic vision.  Yet when Marc Jacobs does it, we applaud him for being so clever.

It’s no wonder that New York fashion is never considered to be in the same league — artistically speaking — as what we see on the runways of Paris and Milan.  We’ve got Marc Jacobs trying to be John Galliano or Karl Lagerfeld and they’ve got John Galliano and Karl Lagerfeld.

Until we find a poster boy for American fashion who deserves our admiration, we’re just going to continue to make excuses for his ponderous collections disguised as faint praise.

Lorenzo Martone & Marc Jacobs

While I was trolling the web this evening to see if my least-favorite couple in the world got married this past weekend, I discovered that Lorenzo Martone is only thirty-years-old.

Yikes!  They need to put this photo on cigarette packages and bottles of suntan lotion, like a public service announcement.  No one will ever smoke or get too much sun again.

Just imagine what he’s going to look like after being married to the Evil AntiZob takes a couple dozen years off his life.  Yechh!

Madonna

A little, tweeting bird named Nathalie Atkinson let me know about this article from today’s New York Post.  Fashion Editor Serena French has put a price tag on Madonna’s Monday night Met Gala getup.  It would cost $8805 US to purchase the same outfit.

I’m not surprised.  I’ve can barely make it through a day’s posts on this blog without mentioning the overpriced, trashy crap produced by the Louis Vuitton label.  Marc Jacobs is not the kind of designer who should be at the creative helm of a luxury goods manufacturer.  Under his reign, the label has become synonymous with the nouveau riche and the terminally tacky.

However, at the expense of my own credibility, I will say that I’ve resisted complimenting Jacobs on his Marc line on this blog.  The diffusion market is exactly where the guy belongs.  He has a talent for making cute, cheap clothes (“cheap” being a relative term).

I’ve wanted to write that for quite some time, but after making him my mortal enemy on this blog, I thought that it was quite inappropriate to give him a nod of approval.

Whatever I had been thinking, it must have been wearing on my consciousness because last night I had a dream starring Marc Jacobs.  We were roommates, and he was hugging me while thanking me for being such a good friend to him.  It was the weirdest thing!

So is he haunting me now?  Has he found a way to enter my dreams in order to mess with my head?  Is this payback for all the rotten things I’ve written about Louis Vuitton, or was my subconscious mind telling me to call a truce with the Evil AntiZob and write a few nice things about the Marc label?

Any interpretations would be welcome.  Also, why was Mr. Valentino getting into a red Volkswagen Rabbit instead of a limousine in the same dream?  Was that some sort of symbolism?  Hmm . . .

Karl

The Cut is reporting that Karl Lagerfeld won’t be attending tonight’s supermodel-themed Met Costume Institute Gala.  I guess I’m not going, either.  We have a date.  I guess I’m going wherever he takes me.  I hope it’s Taco Del Mar.  I have a craving for chipotle sauce.

Actually, that’s not true.  I can’t attend the gala because Marc Jacobs aka the Evil AntiZob is the host.  It’s a matter of principle.  He probably won’t show up the next time I’m invited to host the event, either.

Despite my absence, I do hope that Wear a Gown to Work Day is on the tip of every tongue at the gala.  I’m afraid the party’s organizers may have issued an informal moratorium on the subject.  If I was hosting the month of May’s second-most glamorous event, I’d try to ignore the competition, as well.

Anyway, I’m sure the blogosphere will be buzzing with the usual red carpet banter tomorrow.  I might chime in, too.  It’s not often that all the greatest supermodels in the world show up in one place at the same time, unless you count the spring shows, the fall shows, the couture shows, the resort shows, the pre-fall shows, the CFDA Awards . . .

The Evil AntiZob

Happy birthday, Marc Jacobs aka The Evil AntiZob.  I’d send you a gift, but I’m sure that you would just send it back unopened.  Would the Joker sign for a package from Batman?  I don’t think so.

The Martones

Every news outlet seems to reporting that the world’s grossest couple are considering adopting a baby girl.  I have nothing against gay marriage or gay parents adopting children, but because Marc Jacobs is my nemesis, this news alarms me.

I suppose that this is part of a plot by the Evil AntiZob to create a legion of doom.  I’m sure that one baby will turn into two, then four, then eight, etc.  Soon the Martone househould will look like a cross between Mia Farrow’s apartment and the set of “Village of the Damned.”

Be afraid.  Be very afraid.

Lorenzo Martone & Marc Jacobs

I guess there is someone out there for everyone.

I can’t understand why anyone would choose to marry Marc Jacobs, but Lorenzo Martone apparently wants to exchange vows with the Evil AntiZob.

I suppose the wedding will be a lavish affair.  Perhaps Rachel Zoe will be in the wedding party.  I’d like to see her in something traditional, like peach-colored taffeta — maybe a hoop dress.

So what do you send your arch-nemesis for a wedding gift, anyway?  What would Superman send Lex Luthor if he was getting married?  If anyone has any suggestions, I’d love to hear them.