The Definitive List, For Me Anyway

My Favorite Sad Movie: "Dancer In The Dark"
My Favorite Funny Movie: "Three Amigos"
My Favorite Sad Song: "The Drugs Don't Work" by The Verve
My Favorite Happy Song: "Paper Moon" by Django Reinhardt
My New Favorite David Lynch Project: The Gucci fragrance commercial featuring the 70s and Freja Beha, Natasha Poly, and Raquel Zimmerman

And if you want more, like I did, watch the behind the scenes video. Isn't it so cute that Raquel can't dance? More glitter!

Fabishubun

Dumb Donald? Is that you?

Hussein Chalayan's recent holographic fashion show featured some surprisingly wearable looks, this notwithstanding.

(Mushmouth was always myb faboribit. And yes, I occasionally still talk like him around the Sandbox girls.)

Abierto/Cerrado

There's a few litmus tests for models - editorials with high-powered photogs, scoring ads (espeically cosmetics) and covers, and who opens and closes a fashion show. I'm sure there are others - who can eat the least during fashion week, who's the bitchiest, who has the best hair of the season, who has the cutest boyfriend/girlfriend - but these are the measurable ones the public gets to gauge. God bless NY Mag for making it easier for model watchers in that last measurable test.

List of Opens/Closes for Sunday's shows

Fashion So Far

Although I'm eyeing snappy coats and cashmere, it's Springtime for Fashion (and Germany)! Let's peek in on the RTW, shall we?

Oooh...icy clean at BCBG.


Creepy hollow white eye makeup at Fetherston. And far fewer trapeeze dresses than ever before.


What a feeling, bein's believin'! Herchcovitch has it all, now he's dancing for his life!


Marchesa finally makes clothes I actually like.


While Vena Cava finally makes clothes I actually hate. From elegant lawn party last year to giant cut out cell phones? The hell?

Rotten Youth Of America

"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." - George Santayana

Darlings born in the 80s,

We already lived through the decade of your birth and I remember it vividly and despite what ol' George says up there, I think we have the power to change things. You can put away the neon and the tight tees and the acid washed (yes, there's a wee revival trying to bring that frightening tidbit back to life) and the bubble skirts and the jellies and the rubber bracelets and all the other business we previously lived through. We're not going back. We will not repeat those trends that we successfully avoided when they were new. And heavens to Mr. T, we sure as shit aren't going to buy the Units-esque "belt" that a certain retail icon is trying to foist upon us. We remember those baggy cotton prisons we bought into long ago. We even remember the color scheme - green tee, navy leggings, magenta "belt" - and how we had waited as patient as could be just so we wouldn't have to wait in line on a busy Saturday to purchase them. Yes, we waited in line for this, lambs, and let me tell you, if I knew then what I know now, I would have saved the cash, put it into a CD or something so that at this point the money would have replicated itself and I could take that cash and buy something that might last like a McQueen bag or, say, this. (Yes, I know it's Marc Jacobs. Shut up.) So, put down the block lettered tees, drop the stirrup pants, and burn the jazz shoes because if we start repeating these fashion travesties, we're just a wee hop, skip, and jump from bustles and frankly, my ass doesn't need any help in that arena.

Love,
OAA

Fashion Round-up: Ye Olde Tidbits

I know some of you aren't up on the couture scene and that at times my endless rants about Galliano's pencil thin moustache and McQueen's utter genius can be rather dullsville. And so, I give you the best of both worlds - high fashion and cartoons! (See more at Fashionista.com!)

• The title of this article makes me giggle like a wee child.

• I know this dress could only be worn to my goth boyfriend's untimely funeral (aren't they always), but I still want it. And it's on sale. And yes, it's McQueen. (Am I that transparent?)


• Hey Leigh Lezark! The Giles dress you wore for Vogue's on sale too! (I can't find a scan of you in it, but I know you were.)


• And because I wanted to do a whole post about couture, but just couldn't really get into it beyond the Dior, here's the newest look in fashion - the ass fox. You'd think that I might be referring to a 45-year-old oiled down playboy from Milan who prefers the booty to the boobies, but I'm not. Plus, would that guy really be a fox anyway? Regardless...

Imagine turning around and seeing that thing behind you all the time.

60 Years of Christian Dior

Well, I think we know by now that I'm not the biggest Galliano fan, which is to say, I do not doubt his ability to create, I just don't always enjoy his vision. Yesterday was the show celebrating the 60th anniversary of the House of Christian Dior and while I see the vision - the harlequin, the sweepingly dramatic dresses, the wasp waisted suit - I just wish he wouldn't turn his models into drag queens.

Seriously. He turned gloriously beautiful Kim Noorda into Lady Bunny with two swooshy eyebrows and a shit-ton of blue shadow. But she wasn't the only one that ended up looking wretched. Linda Evangelista and Naomi Campbell were looking a little worse for wear on the runway and poor Angela Lindvall ended up cast as a fur-trimmed Miss Ellie from "Dallas".

But, all that being said, there were sublime moments like the dress Lily Bart might have worn popping up on Vlada.

And a stunning ensemble that would have been perfect on Lisa Fonssagrives.

The colors were simply astounding. Petal pinks, icy blues, blood reds, café mocha shades that slid into cinnamons, minty greens and lavenders! It was a cavalcade of shades that were absolutely pitch perfect and rendered in not only gloriously crafted gowns, but also in the hair ornaments and jewelry that made me long to be regal or bound for a ball sometime in the future.

And just as I was beginning to think I might be able to get past the model gawking and just focus on the fashion and that I might actually start to like Galliano, it came crashing down when he came out to take his bow.

So, sufficient to say, I'd love to raid his atelier and jewelry box, but I'll be steering quite clear of his makeup table and his personal closet.

Racist Bastard

I doubt the logic behind this statement and would like to thwack Stefano Pilati in the face with one of his over-sized, over-priced handbags. And look at that face! So utterly punchable!
Ban YSL!

His pouty Zoolander face came from here.

Pat McGrath Saved Henry's Job Today

Sometimes I have very strange, very amusing dreams. This morning was no exception. See, H was up super early yesterday and had an 18 hour long day (and having those previously, they are wretched even without having to fly to and from DFW) so he was rather tired when we finally fell asleep at midnight. He had to get up rather early to be at work at 7:30a and the alarm was set for 6a.

The alarm went off and I, ignorant of time/reality in the morning, returned to sleep which is when I had this dream.

I was at Shalom Harlow's house. And, you know, we were making pies. It was a cute little farmy cottage in Canada and we were talking and generally being friends and rolling dough and had flour on our noses and the usual stuff I do when Shalom asks me over. After a bit of this domesticity, the door bell rings and Pat McGrath, famous makeup artist is there. Shalom squeals and tells me that Pat's going to do our makeup, just 'cuz. Hey, it's a dream, I'm at a supermodel's house making pies. Don't ask why we'd need fresh, professionally applied makeup for this. So, Pat's in, Shalom's first, and the three of us are girl talking. Then, it's my turn and Pat and I are talking lipstick. See, I've been looking for this lipstick that's not quite glossy, not quite matte, in just the right plummy shade of wine. But I can't find it. So, naturally, Pat pulls out a NARS lip palette and in it is the prefect shade in the perfect texture. I'm marveling over it and notice there's all the normal shades in this palette - coral, pale pink, rich red, etc. - and there's a few more odd ones like a pale green. I ask Pat (yes, first name basis) what the green is for, exactly. She tells me to open my mouth wide and she puts a wee bit on her lip brush and applies it way at the back of my mouth on my tonue. I let her do it and when she's done I ask her again, "So, what's the green used for then?" She looks me straight in the eye and says, "So you can open your mouth wider." "Open my mouth wider?" "Yes. So you can tell your boyfriend he's oversleeping."

I woke up, H was oversleeping, it was 7:03a. He basically had ten minutes. Pat saved the day. Thanks, Pat.

The Boat's Leaving, Karl

With your sanity, as evidenced by this photo op.

Y'see, dahlings, old Karl is now back on the Lohan tip and he's kookoo for kracked out headbands! This time 'round, it's Chanel's Cruise line, which is a real fashion season now, not just something you might book passage on to the Western Caribbean. So, Krazy Karl trotted out all his hottest items and high wattage fans for a fashion show in an airplane hangar. Let's take a peek inside, shall we?

Why there's too-famous-to-be-bothered Elisha Cuthbert! So chic in her purple neck brace, clutching her mismatched purple bag. Remind me, dear readers, what has she done besides that soft-core-porn-next-door film? And speaking of dubious celebs,

the lovely Camilla Belle had a teensy run-in with the gift wrapping department, but like the trooper she is, she made it to Karl's show!

Now I'm not really an Alba fan, nor am I an Alba dissenter, but I must come out and tell you, loves, that she looks simply delighful here considering the dregs with which she was surrounded. The dregs, OAA? Why yes, dears. We haven't even begun to barf over the fashion!

Case in point:

Yes, poodles, that's a man with roller skates 'round his neck with his track jacket tucked into his track pants. It's okay if you need to leave the room to laugh up your lunch. I already did. (Oooh! Perhaps this is Herr Karl's new diet plan! Laughing Up Lunches! He did this intentionally to keep us all from being chubby! Oh, thank you, Bewigged One!)

For the man who has everything already Bedazzled,

The Sequinned Bathrobe.


Lisa Cant totally got screwed on this show. Not only did she have to drag this doggie bag around for one exit, but for her other, she had to wear this:

SWEET CHRIST WHAT IS THAT?!? Those are open-toed shouchy boots! And are those cut-offs worn with Chanel's take on the formal baja? Are the shorts puking up those flaps from their waistline? Words...they fail me.

And you know it's bad when your favorite look was something so matchy-matchy, it makes even your mother a little queasy:


It seems even big-time-fancy-pants-cover-of-Vogue-Gemma-twin Sasha can't figure it out.

Each time I see this photo...and trust me, she's making this face in every one...I hear the "hruwuhhh?" sound Scooby-Doo made.


For more fashion induced bulimia/Chanel Cruise looks, check out Style.com from which all fashion show images emanate.

More Costume Institute Gala!

Prada had nothing to do with this Danes dress. That was all the work of everyone's favorite heartlight, E.T.


Dr. Venture arrives in his formal bathrobe. And while we're on Urbaniak's doppelgänger, let's talk about his upcoming co-star, Miss Parker Posey.


Or, better yet, let's repeat the old adage "if you have nothing nice to say, come sit by me" (with thanks to "Steel Magnolias" from which I learned all my best lines like "drink your juice, Shelby"). Eh, chuck that. She looks like she was mauled by wolverines. And speaking of wild animals, meet Lapo Elkaan


I have to confess. There are a few images in which Lapo is kinda attractive in a really bitchy, entitled way. And heavens knows palling around with anyone caught with a transsexual whilst high as a kite will make for a fun evening. But this look, although bold as can be, is a little too hollow-eyedey, wrinkly navyey, wide lapelly, velvet loafery lion for me.


Are those racing stripes down the side of Tommy Hilfiger's pants? Is his jacket made from the glossy coat of a jaguar? And is that his gypsy fortune teller predicting he'll come in last in the race for best dressed?


She's just barely keeping that thing up. Or is she inching it down? Hmmm... Either way, if she actually stood up straight I'm 100% sure we'd see boobs.


That's just a damn pillowcase from the Victoria's Secret collection at Sears.

Fashion Round-up: Costume Institute Gala

Saluting the work of Paul Poiret (and honestly, if you don't know his work, you should definitely look it up), this trotting out of the fashion all-stars (and by that I mean designers and Vogue mag staffers) seems pretty close to that scene in "The Devil Wears Prada" for which Emily starves herself only occasionally eating a cube of cheese. Although I've chosen to focus on some folks you might recognize, they were all there - Grace Coddington and her Queen Lizzy hair line, ALT and some sort of capey parachute, and poor size 6 Sally Singer (you know those catty bitches talk about her behind her back).

So, what the hell are we waiting for? Show us the fashion already!


Here's Cate and the suddenly swoonable Nicolas Ghesquière (honestly, girls, that's dreamy although utterly unattainable...so, uh, boys?). Cate looks a wee bit spooked in this photo, but it's probably because she's dressed like the Leg Lamp from "A Christmas Story"'s Tribute To Oscar. I'm also not a fan of the fact that her hair is the reverse of her dress. It messes with the line.

Socialite Fabiola Beracasa, she of the Tinsley Mortimer clique, reminds me of a...well...


And now, to a wine tasting. More tomorrow.

Isabella Blow Shakes Off This Mortal Coil

Fashion icon Isabella Blow has passed on. I may not have liked her every look, but she was most definitely an original spirit in the world of fashion and she most certainly helped my dear Alexander come to power and for that I am forever grateful. Farewell, Isabella. We tip our Treacys to you.