Archive for February 2008
Since February 29th only comes around once every four years, it is a lot like Zob’s gloriousness: Fleeting and priceless, it must be celebrated when it graces the humdrum lives of mere mortals.
Today is Zob Day. Please observe the holiday by being fierce and fabulous, just like the goddess herself. And if you happen to run into the evil AntiZob (he should be in Paris this weekend), honor the glory of Zob by peeing on his shoes while he’s being interviewed by Jeanne Beker for Fashion Television. Just don’t tell the cops that I told you to do it. Zob doesn’t look kindly upon stoolies.
On last night’s ultra-glamorous episode of America’s Next Top Model, Tyra made it clear to the contestants that supermodels need to be super role models. I guess that explains this gem of a photo. It is rather inspirational, now that I think about it. I’m so inspired that I’m going to spend the upcoming weekend knitting leg warmers for homeless bums. Thank you, Tyra!
In other news, Marvita looks at her feet when she walks and Kimberly is a twatchop.
If I had to name my biggest fault, it would be this: I care too much. It hurts to be so caring. It hurts!
Anyway, in this section of my blog I would love to answer your questions. Ask me anything. I’ll sacrifice a few minutes of my glamorous life to provide you with the sort of “tough love” plebes like you need.
Here’s an example:
Dear Auntie Fashion;
If Marc Jacobs is the evil AntiZob, why are his designs so popular?
Puzzled in Pittsburgh
Marc Jacobs’ designs only appeal to undersexed magazine editors and the homosexual companions they dream of converting one day. If all women wore Marc Jacobs, even the straightest, most vagina-loving men would be hard-pressed to find anything attractive about the opposite sex, and breeding as we know it would cease to exist.
I hope that helps!
I have a love/hate relationship with most avant-garde designers. When you’ve seen as many collections as I have, the”cutting edge” can be about as dull as a butter knife. But I adore Gareth Pugh.
With his fifth runway show, Gareth seems to be generating the kind of worldwide buzz that a Londoner hasn’t seen since Alexander McQueen turned his back to the cameras. The biggest difference, however, is that Pugh seems to be absolutely confident in his artistic vision. McQueen fed off of the positive reviews as if he had never got a compliment in his life. Pugh seems to take his praise in stride like he already knows that he’s the best thing to happen to fashion since Nicolas Ghesquire. And if he wasn’t? He’d probably be fine with that, too.
It’s going to interesting to watch his career unfold over the next few years. I suspect that he’ll be going to Paris soon, but I’m just not sure which house he’ll be fronting. Wherever he goes, I hope that he keeps doing what he’s doing. He makes unwearability look so damn desirable.
Hilary Swank in Versace.
In what might have been one of the most nap-inducing red carpet events I’ve ever seen, Hilary Swank woke me up and slapped me across the face like an award-winning dominatrix. She dresses like a movie star, which is all I can ask an actress to do at the Oscars.
Onstage, the dress looked gorgeous at a distance. Swank wears architectural shapes well, and the hard lines of the bodice actually softened her athletic frame. Upon closer inspection, the embellishments appeared as if they could have been made of rubber attached to a backing of translucent vinyl instead of lace on tulle.
It gave a suggestion of kink without giving up an iota of discretion. I’ve been a big fan of Donatella’s Versace for the past few seasons because the label has become so wearable. Now it’s beginning to fill the void that was left in Italian fashion when Tom Ford left Gucci.
The first red carpet review I read this morning cited Swank’s dress as the worst of the evening. The article went on to praise every other dress, including Miley Cyrus in Valentino. What’s wrong with that sentence? If you don’t already know, don’t ask me to explain. You’re as hopeless as the twatchop who awarded the worst-dressed distinction to Ms. Swank.
Leave the fashion criticism to the experts, please. Your pathetic tries bring tears to Zob’s eyes.
Of all the people in the universe who could have co-hosted the Oscar pre-show on E!, why on earth did they choose Kim Kardashian? I can just imagine the meeting where the network brass came up with that idea: “We need a glamorous woman who Americans associate with good taste and impeccable style. Get me Kim Kardashian’s agent on the phone!”
I thought that they hit rock bottom when Lisa Rinna and Joey Fatone worked the carpet for the SAG awards. I guess I was wrong.
I hate the red carpet. I guess I blame Joan Rivers for that. Don’t get me wrong; I love the caustic bitch. But ever since she turned the red carpet into a horse race with her pre- and post-award show commentaries, everyone else has been trying to get in on her act.
The problem with that is that most fashion critics have no idea what they’re talking about. They have a sense of history that goes back two weeks and a sense of style that can only be described as pedestrian. If I have to listen to another Z-list celebrity fawn over some starlet decked-out in precious prom regalia, I’m going to retch.
Anyway, I’ve abbreviated “The Wretched Red Carpet” in order to name this section of my blog: The Wred Carpet. With the mother of all red carpets scheduled to take place tomorrow, I’ll have plenty to make you nauseous soon enough. Bring a bucket.
Not a fashion critic.