Furious Fashion

2006-01-13T01:40:00.000-08:00

If Wishes Were Shoes III

--Sorry this is so short guys, but I figure it's better than nothing.--

"Ah," she said, "I take it that your Jedi mind trick thing didn’t work like it was supposed to."

"Nope, about five percent of the population is immune to Wishbringer suggestion. Just the breaks, I guess." I shifted from foot to foot, waiting for her to ask the question every human asks after they figure out the whole Wishbringer thing. But that wasn’t what she asked at all. She circled around to my back and ran her hands up and down my shirt; that actually felt kind of disturbingly good, so I stepped out of reach of her arms before I disgraced the Wishpair badge.

She grinned, "No wings, and aren’t you kind of...well...manly looking to be a fairy?" I tried, oh, how I tried not to let that get under my skin, but having a cute woman call me a fairy pushed every button I owned as a man and a Wishbringer. I wish I could say that I suavely smiled and shook my head, but the truth is I went off on a rant about Wishbringers, their history, sexual orientation, and culture that probably lasted twenty minutes not counting the three breaths I took. When I finally wound down, I realized that wish one comment, she’d managed to get me to give her a fully guided tour of everything she was not supposed to know.

Damn, she was good.

2006-01-10T23:04:00.000-08:00

So Mr. Blackwell has named Britney Spears as the number one worst-dressed woman of 2005. To me, this has the faint whiff of "shooting ducks in a barrel." If Mrs. Federline (and yeesh, doesn't that make me shudder as I write it) were actually attempting to be in the media (as opposed to her freeloadin', spotlight-lovin' hubby) then yeah, I could see where a shame could be upon her, but come on, she was pregnant last year. I know that I personally would not want to be judged on what I wore whilst turning into the Blob. Plus, kudos to Brit for managing to give her child a sensible name, one that bears no relation to fruit or hallucinogens. But still, you just have to know that she can't afford the pregnancy stylist (or possibly any stylist) now that she has a family to support. Come one, Lohan's been giving magazine interviews left and right (although apparently, she can't remember what she says in them); the Olsen twins have paraded their potato sack couture (albeit with cute shoes) to ever flippin award show there is; and Hillary Duff is turning into a stick figure with a smile that shark's would envy. It looks to me as though Mr. Blackwell just got too close to deadline and fell back on Britney (known in the world of fashion snarking as "Old Reliable".) Shame, shame upon you Mr. Blackwell.

2006-01-08T22:36:00.000-08:00

Call me a prude but...

It's not so much that Nick Lachey has spent time walking in Jessica Simpson's shoes (are his feet that small, or are hers that big?) as it is the fact that he merrily divulged this to Elle magazine. Revealing the strange bedroom pecadillos of your crumbled marriage to the world at large: tacky, very tacky.

2006-01-06T22:36:00.000-08:00

Ha, behold how I lied. Sadly, allergies and a stomach virus have stricken me this holiday season. If you're looking, check back on Monday for a new update. I'm off to sleep for an hour or twelve...

2005-12-23T01:30:00.000-08:00

This blog is on Holiday Hiatus until Monday the 26th. Happy Holidays!!!

2005-12-19T04:25:00.000-08:00

Food for thought:

A friend of mine told me today that there was a roast for Pam Anderson and Courtney Love. All I was left to do was wonder, "How hard can in be to hold up pictures for one hour?"

2005-12-16T03:02:00.000-08:00

Ah, Part II of "If Wishes Were Shoes" Sorry about the lack of update Wednesday, but I've been a busy little demon this week. If you haven't read the first part of this story, go back to last Friday's post.

Yeah, I know that’s how they all begin, boy meets girl, sparks fly, etc. Only that’s not how it began. See I was just finishing up my day with the gravity goon, world restored to normal in two point eight minutes, a personal best might I add, when I realized I had a witness. Man, this just sucked, witnesses always meant more paperwork, even if they were memory-wiped, and somehow, looking at this woman, I didn’t think she was going to be the forgetting type. She was standing about four feet away from where the gravity goon was shaking his head. She looked a little bemused as she stared up at the sky, then down at her feet. Lifting up a strand of her curly blonde hair, she pulled it to its highest extension and let it drop then took a small hop off the pavement. Crap. By this time, most people had managed to convince themselves that they’d hallucinated: heat, fatigue, whatever. Just my luck I got stuck with an empiricist. Oh well, it was time to do my work; I stomped over to her and held my hand in front of her face.

"I’m sorry you had to see that," I said, "You will forget this ever happened." She didn’t say anything, just blinked these sleepy looking grey eyes at me and chewed on her bottom lip a bit, which seemed kinda cute to me now that I realized, to my great relief, that she wasn’t going to be a problem. I smiled at her and turned around, ready to fade into the distance.

"Excuse me," said a girlish voice behind me. Those two words made me flinch. It was entirely possible, I tried to tell myself, that she was just hoping that I might help her cross the street or something. Yeah, weak try, I know, but in my head I could see the stack of paperwork getting higher. I executed a reluctant about face.

"Yes, ma’am, may I help you?"

"I just wanted to know something," she said, "If you were going to wipe my memory, why bother giving an apology I wouldn’t remember?" There went my evening off. Just once I’d like to get off my shift on time. Just once... But the lady was still standing there, patiently waiting for my answer.

"My mother didn’t raise me to be impolite, and even if you didn’t remember, I would. Besides, it’s company policy." She smiled at me, but knowing I had to grant her a wish which as a matter of personal pride I wouldn’t allow to be a screw-up wish, it just didn’t look that cute anymore.

2005-12-11T23:45:00.000-08:00

On anyone else, I might mock Fergie's outfit, but for her, this may be a career high. All the colors match. Most of her body is covered, and yes, though the pyrex heels whisper, "stripper," at least they only whisper instead of shouting.

2005-12-09T00:27:00.000-08:00

So here's a new program for Friday. I hereby dub this, "Fiction Friday." Every week, I'm going to post an installment of "If Wishes Were Shoes." Behold, Chapter One:

My name is Max Topp. I know it’s a pretty boring name for a Wishpair man, but it’s the name my mother gave me. She probably thought that I’d just be one of the Wishbringers, but Mrs. Topp’s son is just a little bit smarter than that. At the age of fourteen, I took the Wishpair test and received the highest score ever. I realize some of you might be unfamiliar with the whole Wishpair concept so allow me to explain.

My people are what you might call fairies. We don’t look like fairies or leprechauns or genies, but we do grant wishes. One might even say compulsively. Someone says, "I wish...," and if a Wishbringer is in earshot, most cannot resist the whole "granted, POOF’ thing. Now anyone with a smidgen of imagination can see where this can frequently be a bad thing. It used to be that people mostly wished for piles of gold, a pot that always gave food, or eternal life: inclined to go badly for the wisher, but, in the grand scheme of things, not terribly damaging. Now we live in a narky "global" society; everybody has been taught to think "for the world." For the first time in history, Wishbringers became distressingly conversant with the term "collateral damage." Thus the Wishpair service was born. Coralbell, the first Wishpair woman and now head of our organization, realized that somebody needed to start fixing humanity’s more disastrous wishes.

"Disastrous?" you might ask. More than you could ever know. It used to be, back in the fifties, when Buck Rogers and space travel were big, that some kiddo would wish that she could defy gravity, never suspecting that a weak-willed Wishbringer was lurking nearby. Faster than you could say abracadabra, that kid would be shooting off to the far ends of the universe off of one tiny jump. This is where someone like Corabell would come in, using her powers to stop the poor chump’s unscheduled flight, getting her to unwish her wish, and wiping her memory. If a memory couldn’t be wiped, she’d buy the victim or witness off with one, supervised, wish. Course, that was then; now, when some idiot Dungeons and Dragons groupie opens his mouth, to take an example NOT at random, he wishes that gravity no longer existed. So, as the universe began to implode, (two weeks ago, at three twenty-five AM,) I, Max Topp, Wishpairman extraodinare, rolled out of my bed to return the world to safety. And I guess that’s really when it all began. See, there was this girl.

2005-12-06T23:06:00.000-08:00

Judging by his nose, I'd say he finally explained to Katie just exactly what's entailed in a "Silent Birth.":

2005-12-06T01:17:00.000-08:00

Present for the girl who's always cold

Nothing says, "You're my best friend, and I should remind you with a hug every day," like a cashmere silk blend shirt. Nothing says, "I won't have to sell my soul to Mastercard," like $33.99. Available here.

2005-12-02T23:41:00.000-08:00

Well, as December is finally here, and I can celebrate the holiday season without feeling like a corporate shill, I'll be putting up nifty gift ideas on the blog. This is not to say that the holiday spirit will squash all of my snarking...just some of it.

2005-12-01T22:18:00.000-08:00

Now, tell me that's not an improvement. As the girls as Go Fug Yourself would say, "Behold as the NBA says goodbye to the fug!" Some players have complained about having to buy a grown-up's wardrobe after spending a bunch of money on an adolescent bling spree this summer, but given that the starting salary of the NBA is $398,000, I find myself curiously lacking in pity. Check out other players in their new wardrobes here.

2005-11-30T01:10:00.000-08:00

So, Victoria's secret is that she's a drag queen.

2005-11-27T01:50:00.000-08:00

OK, can someone tell me why someone as beautiful as Aishwarya Rai feels the need to strap some fuzzy caterpillars to her eyes? Is this her way of evening up the genetic lottery that gave her those stunning looks? Perhaps they're a silent apology, "no, no, do not gaze into my georgeous and exotic eyes; instead, mock the clumpy fringe around them!"

2005-11-22T23:43:00.000-08:00

And in honor of Thanksgiving: a pair of turkeys.

2005-11-20T22:47:00.000-08:00

Ah, today I recommend a site for your perusal. boutiqueoverstock.com. Culled from LA's chic boutiques, the clothes are a steal, and they have a fabulous return policy. Many are the deals on designer blue jeans, as well as the cute, fitted blazer shown here- on sale for just $60!!! Check out the clearance section as well for some great finds. Ciao for now.

2005-11-18T20:56:00.000-08:00

So, out of curiousity (and the fact that every time I Christmas shop, I find something I just have to have.) What have any of you found that is just perfect- while shopping for others, of course.

2005-11-15T22:00:00.000-08:00

Apparently the fantasy juggernaut that is Harry Potter has managed to crush some stars' fashion sense underneath its massive weight. To the right, the lad who plays Harry appears to be a hobbit newly escaped from the Shire, or perhaps just the set of Lord of the Rings. To the left, it seems that somewhere Little Lord Fauntleroy is shivered naked in the streets, crying becuase some woman stole his clothing and then dipped them in grape Kool-Aid. Does the overuse of purple means this is how Madonna thinks British royalty should dress? Fantasy, indeed.

2005-11-14T03:03:00.000-08:00

Ah, how sad my readers (all two of you...) I have left you for so long.
To make up I have a rant...And the above picture of pretty, pretty shoes!
I know that I speak frequently of fashion. Well, I must tell you that FASHION IS A LIE...A BIG BIG GIANT LIE. The lie is not that fashion exists, for it does; the lie is that you need follow it. In my other life (the one in which I am not an avenging fury smiting the tacky with my sword and flail *sigh*) I frequently write about fashion, but this does not mean that I believe all should dress according to the whims, or even the prevailing winds, of it. Style, not fashion is what you want to possess. Think of the great fashion icons, Audrey Hepburn, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, Marlene Dietrich, Cary Grant, Marilyn Monroe, and James Dean. Say what you will; none of them changed their look every two seconds, and most of them had a lasting effect on the fashion of the world. What they had was style. Their look may have evolved somewhat as they aged and their bodies changed, but on the whole they found a style that suited their shapes and personalities and stuck with that. (Now, I am aware that people like Madonna frequently change their looks, it's worth noting that even she only drastically changes her look about every ten years or so.) Just because every fashion magazine in the country tells you that black is the new black, doesn't mean that you need to wear black. Some of us look great in black, others (my beloved mother included) look like the reanimated corpses from Night of the Living Dead in it. Discover what suits your body, coloring, and personality, and work around that. View fashion through the lens of style, not the other way around. One of my very good friends has Converse in every shade of the rainbow, because she says they make her "short, stubby feet" look long and slender. She wears them fairly reliably on her lanky body with skinny jeans, a stretchy t-shirt, and the occasional jacket. Now, she works at a game development company, and believe me, the style suits both her lean figure and her personality (she's known for once playing Halo for forty-eight hours straight, nothing but bathroom breaks.) Find your style, and walk out proud, knowing that you don't look just like everyone on your block, in your office, at the restaurant, etc.

2005-11-07T20:35:00.000-08:00

Ah, Jared Gold. How do I explain him. He is like Edward Gorey, had Gorey decided to become a fashion designer instead of an illustrator. His designs have a subtly twisted Edwardian feel, and what looks like it might be a bit chintzy, usually reveals itself in the teeny, tiny details as a bit demented. Click on the picture to see what I mean. Then visit his website to see, and hear, a charmingly skewed vision of the world at www.jaredgold.com. It makes me giggle.

2005-11-05T03:37:00.000-08:00

Scariest Halloween costume ever!!!!

Sadly, the first thing that I thought when I saw this picture was, "that's not a half-bad drag version of Marilyn."

2005-11-03T17:06:00.000-08:00

It has finally happened.

We all knew it was just a matter of time before Sarah Jessica Parker ripped, tore, or pulled something as she made her daily hundred yard dash down the streets of NY in her toothpick heels. And this week, her number came up. She has ripped tendons in her foot.
I've always felt that doing things like running in beautiful heels was tempting fate in some way. Aren't these the shoes that are so gorgeous that men want to carry you? Ms. Parker vows that this will not stop her from wearing her towering heels (at least once her tendons heal.) But let this be a lesson that while strutting in heels is a great idea, running in them just isn't. See the full story here.

2005-11-02T21:37:00.000-08:00

The Buff Buffing the Buff

Ah, nothing says, "your body's not perfect even when it's perfect," like the fashion industry. Check out the article and slide show here. At least Tom Ford can mock himself and his industry.

2005-10-31T23:34:00.000-08:00

Why oh why can't I
If it's cold in the North, and they're wearing sweaters. Why oh why can't I?
I just got to turn my A/C of down here in Texas, and I can't wait to be wearing sweaters just like this one. Well if I could afford it. Somewhere in the cyberverse, a sweater just like this one is dreaming of me. Damn you, Bluefly!

2005-10-31T03:02:00.000-08:00

So begins my blog, on Halloween, rather amusingly. In honor of one of my favorite holidays, I'll start this blog of with an issue that's been bothering me for years now. I love Halloween. I love dressing up as something else, finding inspiration for a costume that's unique and interesting. Alas, I have no skill with "the needle" (unless you count using it as a weapon.) So bar the ocassional creative use of safety pins or cunningly accessorized dress, I am reduced to shopping for my Halloween attire. During my shopping excursions, which include the Internet and some local party stores, I've come across a disturbing phenomenon. All the costumes for women are "Sexy _____" I've seen the "Sexy Witch," the "Sexy Pirate," the "Sexy Cop," the "Sexy Red Riding Hood," and even the "Sexy Little Bo Peep" (which I might add employed an alarming amount of petticoats for a very little skirt). And that doesn't even count the "Sexy Alice in Wonderland" pictured above. Now don't get me wrong, I have nothing against "sexy" dressing, but this seems a bit ridiculous. Somewhere along the line "women's costume" has turned into "dress like a slut". Worst of all, it's dress like a classless slut. Now we're at the point that some girls, and I've seen them at many a Halloween party, just find whatever clothes they can't work up the gumption (or shove down the taste) to wear during the regular year and pass them off as a costume. Oh please. There's something vaguely reminiscent of those girls in high school who got completely drunk and then blamed whatever sexual escapades they'd had the night before on the beer. So maybe it's time for me to give up. Maybe this year, I'll just go pull some man-eater outfit out of the closet for Halloween. If anyone asks, I'll just tell them I'm a succubus. Which come to think of it, for some of the girls I've seen at these parties, might not be a costume at all.

2005-10-31T01:44:00.000-08:00

I'm the one on the left.