Sick City Windows

May 14, 2012

Every Time a Couple Marries, Two Single People Die.

Marriage is not something on my radar– I mean I should really work on a couple dates first, right? But, after a night of Lifetime movies, gossip and Facebook stalking it got me thinking… And that is, if you are going to do something as un-chic as say tie yourself down to one person for the “rest of your life” you might as well look your absolute best as you kiss freedom goodbye. After all, you have a whole e-world just waiting to see your super unique “save the date,” engagement photos, wedding website and Fbook albums, right?

Wrong. Morosely enough, these days all brides look the same. As if its not bad enough that love is blind and engagement rings in your mid 20′s are more pebbles than rocks, it seems that wedding dresses now only come in one shape- tube top a-line princess taffeta. So much for looking unique on your “special” day… What you thought you were the only one?

It beats the fuck out of me why everyone is gunning for the same mediocre look. I know every leading lady wants to feel like a princess at some point or another, but 1. without the crown you’re not a fucking princess and 2. growing up in the 90s didn’t we have our fill with poofy prom dresses? I know I did (despite never having worn one). And besides, don’t women want a mature and sensual dress that fits them specifically? Because in truth despite what you think, NO, tube top princess dresses do not work on every body. So before you become another “insert face here” bride, chow down on a little food for thought. It’s all you should be eating now anyway.

The Neckline:

Tube tops make broad look even broader. Designed to create definite lines on the female form, they’re great for voluptuous women– but if you’re not, why make your upper body look even more rectangular than it already is? You should really be softening out your silhouette and breaking up the mass of body you’ve got cloaking your otherwise skinny clavicle. Say yes to straps my brides and rejoice- there are plenty of styles to choose from: halter, spaghetti, one shoulder. Scalloped trims make the world of a difference and I promise it will de-Beluga you in the wedding photos. If you don’t have shape, create it. If you have it, flaunt it. But dont you fucking dare slap a tube top on it just because.

The Silhouette:

There has to be a reason why all of these Facebook brides are making the decision to A-line their look and it’s because the style conceals real and/or imagined belly bulge. With a corset bodice that flares at the waist/hips, there’s no way for your new hubby or his ex-girlfriend who just had to be invited, to discern that you couldn’t stay away from any and all caloric intake leading up to your big day. Well kudos on having your best figure interest at heart but your arms still look fat. In other words- don’t sell the rest of your body short or hide from the curves you’ve got. There are plenty of silhouettes that will make the most of your figure, not make the most of it go away. Killer legs, go mullet. Toned back, let it out. Daring diva, plunge the shit out of your neckline. I promise that the person you’re marrying would much rather see you than the cupcake your upper body is sitting atop.

Color is a definite do. I’m always game for a light blush, champagne is always chic and lord knows none of you bitches getting married are virgins. Feathers, for sure. Lace, duh. Ruffles if they cascade like a waterfall. Embellishments, tricky– if your first pick was a tube top princess gown you can’t be trusted, so no. Remember to wear your gown, never let it wear you; and lastly, don’t intentionally fug your bridal party- the pics will be hanging in your hearth (and all over the web) in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live. Or at least until you divorce.

For those of you wondering what my gown will look like. Well, I’d like to think I’ll be in the nude on a remote beach somewhere… Naked is the new dressed, eloping is the new ceremony, and not sharing every intimate detail of your life is the new sharing every intimate detail of your life. Toodles!

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May 4, 2012

I’m All Cuffed Up.

Cuffs are something that really grind my gears– and not in the Fifty Shades of Gray kind of way. I’m glad your minds went there though because post Fifty life has become for most of middle america, middle aged housewives and mid-level erotica readers all about the whips, chains and handcuffs. You know, slap a little booty up with my belt– scream help. From time to time some of rap’s greatest invade my soul. A little Luda here, a whole lot of Trina there…

But no, the cuffs that grind my gears are the ones on Katie Holmes and J.Crewsters everywhere. Don’t get me wrong I love them on myself but that’s because I know what the fuck I’m doing. Remember, I’ve been styling for almost a decade, these other “fashion bloggers,” well, ask them the last time they dressed someone who 1. wasn’t themselves and 2. didn’t have the physique of a 12 year old Oriental boy– they probably never have.

But, being that I am such a giver. Here is a little lesson on cuffing.

1. Perfection is in the imperfection. Probably the biggest faux is the equally matched and measured crispy cuff. Ew. I mean really the only people who still match these days are the ones wearing Blurberry shorts, a Blurberry trimmed tee, Blurberry/Kangol hat and Blurberry Air Force Ones. And even though you should strive for a perfectly symmetrical face this doesn’t lend itself to a jeans’ ankle base. And ya know what, in all seriousness you shouldn’t be cuffing shit anyway, in case you haven’t heard, rolling is in. And when you roll your pants, they should be as organic as the granola you eat, as messy as the dreds on your dealer’s head and uneven as Tara Reid’s body post op. Bottom line: Don’t rock a relaxed denim with an uptight roll. Not chic. Sorry Rach, right pant, wrong roll.

2. Length counts. This is super important. Just because the look says “I dont care,” it doesn’t give you carte blanche to not actually fucking care. Clothes should ALWAYS be working for you, so no matter how high or low you roll– make sure you still look your best. Don’t Jessica Simpson your leg when you could Gisele it if you get my point. And if you have cankles, well you may want to just scrap the look all together. Just sayin. A good rule of thumb is that the higher a shoe comes to your ankle, the higher the roll (e.g. ballet flats= low roll, ankle. cage shoe/booties= high roll, calf). Notice how Kim is a double offender- equal rolls with unflattering placement on the leg.

3. Wash matters. Here, I’ll say it again, wash matters. So unless you’re going for 50s proletariat stick with light denim, but steer clear of acid wash all together. Oh and what type of jean you’re rolling matters too. True denim works best- no jeggings, and think straight leg to skinny– no cigarette and certainly no boot cut/wide leg or else you’ll wind up looking like this cloven footed mess right here.

So, how should your rolls look? Well, like any of these… Oh and a little disclaimer on my picks– I only endorse the roll, not the person. Jennifer Aniston- EW. But what did you expect? Did you really think VBecks would be caught dead in a style inspired by the working class? Fuck no.

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May 3, 2012

A Bidi Bidi.

Once upon a time my family was so obsessed with Selena that it was the only thing we listened to in the car; this was after playing out the Lion King but before the Backstreet Boys. My parents were so impressed with my little sister’s rendition of “bidi bidi bom bom” that they actually forbade my older sister and I from singing along as well. I mean jesus- even Selena’s heifer sister was allowed to participate. rude. Although I really shouldn’t complain, we all know now that it wasn’t Leah’s voice my parentals were taken aback with, but her tejano worthy complexion. Lucky bitch is tan year round. naturally.

But enough about my sister’s brown sugary skin, this post is really dedicated to the woman who made embellished bustiers totally icon worthy. Rebelling against her father with a bejeweled décolletage and skin tight leather. Marrying the help. Uniting Cholitas and Gringas. You were an inspiration to insurgent daughters everywhere and we miss you Selenas. I know that if you were alive today you would’ve had this One Teaspoon, or Dolce & Gabbana bustier on pre-order, for trips to the market, workouts. whatever.

And because we can’t all get away with that much sparkle on a regular basis, here is the second outfit inspiration in honor of my favorite bosom buddies in celebration of boobs being back in. oh righttttt.

The Selena

The Shades: American Apparel Jackson Frames, The Bustier: Vera Wang Eyelet Printed, The Leather: The Row Legging, The Minaudière: Franchi Floral, The Cuff: YSL Lace Effect, The Shoe: Guiseppe Zanotti Peep-toe

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May 1, 2012

I Love Girls, Girls, Girls, Girls. Girls, I Do Adore.

It’s not every day you feel like someone is watching your every move, unless you’re me– who grew up with just the right amount of ego coupled with the incessant watching of Sally Jesse, and a mother who cut out and displayed newspaper clippings of girls abducted in parking garages, stabbed in elevators and slipped roofies at parties– and then stabbed in elevators…

In all honesty, were it not for HBO’s new series Girls, my therapist and I could’ve ~~maybe~~ successfuly worked through my perceived feelings of grandeur and paranoia. But oh no. A new show had to come out and prove to me, and to Dr. Silverman tomorrow at noon, that people are fucking watching me. Big time.

I’m not sure how it is I’ve missed Lena Dunham lurking in the shadows of the free STD clinic on 9th where I spent many a nervous minutes, or stenographing my experiences as a 25 year old editorial intern denied compensation because of Photoshop. Fucking Photoshop, I edit photos on my iPad assholes. But in any event it happened. Lena was there. She must have been. Or else how could my life be playing on the small screen Sundays at 10:30??? There is no other way. I mean I may not know any virgins, or flakey artists or friends who’ve been cut off financially, or dating effeminate men. Oh wait, yes I do. ME. Hmm I guess this is what Whitney meant when she said she was every woman. Well, I’m every Girl.

I guess all of my potions and Tiny Furniture chants worked because clearly LD and I have been conjoined ever since. And now that she knows that I know, I think HBO will be happy to know that the promos should really look like this… And just remember, I’m not the creep here, I’m just living my life. Blame Lena. jk. I love you, and your sister.

If you haven’t watched Girls yet, you need to. Funny, raw and unabashedly honest– need I say more?

Images courtesy of Imdb.com

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April 30, 2012

Tit for Tat.

Cherry picking a part of the body otherwise left un-seen by the public (with the exclusion of beaches, music festivals and House Bunny), every so often the fashion community takes an undergarment and makes it the must-have outerwear… Bloomers have been a wardrobe staple and Miu Miu mainstay for seasons now and last year everyone and their mother (no really it was scary) was rocking the lace bra as a tank look.

As beloved as it was, I’m happy to bid the trend adue and say hello to a more figure friendly one. And by figure friendly I mean my figure friendly– boobalicious. You see, a few years ago, Paris took the throne in an unprecedented itty bitty titty coup and almost immediately, big breasts fell hard from fashion grace. All of a sudden designers everywhere started to care more about the un-shapely people of the world. Amorphic looks flooded runways and magazines and then quickly hit the stores. If only I had known then that boobs would take a turn for the un-chic in 2004, I wouldn’t have spent the early part of the decade wishing for them to arrive. But we can’t go back. Not to then, or to A-line and oversized, caftan or bib front, boxy or drop waist, bandeau or maxi. Times that do nothing but shame busts into hiding. Dark times. Flat times. I shudder…

But, the more I see my therapist, the more I’m learning to forgive. And thanks to a paradigm shift in trends, which hopefully signals smoke signs of hope that designers have come to their senses, I’m happy to report boobs are back in! Seriously, burn that striped bandeau, it wasn’t doing much for you anyway and get lifted. Strap yourself into the “it” summer shirt– the bustier, or bralet. Sorry surfboards you’ve gotta sit this one out, but just remember that up until now you’ve had every single trend, you can shop anywhere at any price point and you can basically skip sports bras and bikini tops all together. so go fuck yourselves.

In honor of my excitement that graciously we’ve been given 1 hot trend in 8 years, over the next few weeks I’ll be bringing you the chicest looks inspired by some of my favorite bosom buddies. Yea… I’ll be dragging this one out.

The Sophia.

The Shades: Dior Cat Eye, The Bustier: Dolce & Gabbana Floral Jacquard, The Bag: Celiné Anthracite, The Shorts: Dolce & Gabbana High Waisted, The Shoe: Fendi Lace-up Espadrille, The Earrings: Lanvin Crystal Embellished, The Cuff: YSL Black Mamaba

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April 27, 2012

Somos lo que Llevamos. La Piel Que Habito.

Last night I attended a panel discussion on Pedro Almodóvar and fashion. Unfortunately it turned out to be one of the worst panels I’ve been to– with speakers who only spoke to the moderator and never looked at the audience, and all but the Professor who brought slides, came completely unprepared to talk on the subject. But, putting all of this aside, what I got out of it was that Pedro Almodóvar loves using high fashion for character construction and identity depiction. Which is an interesting concept because in movies the fashioning of ones self, the mapping and creation of ones identity onto the body is so deliberate and intentional. Cinema has to be able to convey through dress who a character is, what their class and marital status are, what they do, their age, interests etc.

And in life, although I feel like I’m on set every day, the majority thinks of their fashion choices as happenstance and not indicative of who they are. If I get up and throw on black skinny jeans and a white tee, am I really communicating to the world how fabulous, 25, intelligent, single and worldy I am?

Yes, and let me tell you a story… Last year I met a guy at a club, I was drunk and thought he was cute, he was drunk and knew I was gorgeous and the rest is history. Until I made the rookie mistake of trying to hang out again. sober. And what happened, well, you’ll see… I opened the door to my cute little apartment and there it was: man jeans, flat fronted black shoes, athletic tee shirt and oversized fleece. I died on the spot, told him I wasn’t feeling well (I mean after an outfit like that who would be?) and excused myself. No way that was coming inside my sanctuary…

And I was totally bummed out. Because it wasn’t just that he came to my apartment thinking he could look like shit on a stick, it was that this person whom I was totally smitten with for 48 whole hours was not my type on the inside. In that millisecond, I could tell the hideous display in my doorway did not have my taste in music, or any taste for that matter and has very likely never even been to a live show. Sick. He didn’t have a corporate job with other chic men, or was remotely creative. He didn’t live in Manhattan proper or know how to party, or have any gay friends and he certainly didn’t care about my feelings. No thanks.

His external style communicated his internal landscape loud and clear, and it was not chic. However “expensive” or “designer” his clothes were it didn’t matter, they were fug and he was a dud. Style is what counts, inside and out– or rather whats inside shown on the outs! And don’t tell me you can lead a horse to Dior. You can’t make them drink, nor make them feel at homme in a buttery leather jacket and utility boots any more than you can force them to like Chet Baker, foreign films and fried Milkways. Style- the personification of ones self, like the heart is usually on ones’ sleeve. This is a good thing though, you don’t have to look very hard for insight into a soul. Our clothes are a couple of chatty school girl bitches I’d say… What would they?

“I just got in from Paris for a shoot. Move.” “I shop at Trader Joes and I roll my own cigarettes- with lavender. My shirt, oh that’s vegan flannel.”"On my way to Soulcycle. OMG, did you hear Jake goes to the one in Union Square???” ”I’m Russian.” “I’m rich. Okay fine, he’s rich.” “So what I’m from Jersay?” ”I saw Cady Heron wearing army pants and flip flops. So I bought army pants and flip flops…”

For Vera, the Jean Paul Gaultier skin suit she wears for most of The Skin I Live In, is the protestant fashion of her oppression, while the Dolce & Gabbana floral dress she dons at the end speaks to both the characters in the film and the audience watching, the salvatory language of her freedom. If you haven’t seen The Skin I Live In, La Piel Que Habito- I mean there’s not much to say, other than you suck, but I’m pretty sure your jeans already told me.

Images courtesy of Imdb.com

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April 26, 2012

You Didn’t See Me Piss Anywhere.

My first memory of Kirk was when he walked his bad ass Louis Viutton boot wearing self into Air Studios, where I was working at the time. I remember thinking who are you, what the fuck do you want- and why are you so chic, we’re still in Hoboken, right? Well- what he wanted was a job, and what I got was a new bestie…

Now, I knew Kirk was a lifer from the first time we went out. We were testing out the ill fated Hoboken night scene when a gypsy came begging for change. Having none of it, Kirk immediately told her that he heard she had a house in Malibu. Shamed from the truth, she went running and I almost peed myself from laughing.

Since then we’ve been gallery walking, car jumping and rowing; he even lets me take the the paddle and screams for women’s lib along the way. We’ve shared dresses and tears, good movies (Breaking Dawn) and better movies (The Skin I Live In), and he’s the type who has the best taste in everything (especially friends); saving me from a night or two at Pacha–The Box, The Raines Law Room, much better choices! We’ve broken into playgrounds, carnivals, after parties and runways– but don’t worry there’s been quite a few invites over the years as well.. He’ll serve you tea out of a Victorian set from Henry the VIII, yell Superbad obscenities in the street, smoke cigarettes with an extender fit for a true gent and pass out at Goldfrapp– just in the name of Lindsay.

My parter in crime, my Addison, Silver Lining Lally~ Happy Birthday!!!! I love ya… And maybe this will teach you a lesson about reading my blog. Just kidding. No. I’m really not…

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April 25, 2012

Old News. Shmews.

Normally I’m not an advocate for the whole “in transit” look- bubble wrap, paper print. I mean tell me a time when old news was ever chic. Let me help you, there hasn’t been, and if you’re thinking Dior I’m thinking of shanking you in the kidney and paper cutting your jugular (hot ≠ chic). I still haven’t been able to vanquish the memory of the seriously awful duct tape situation that went down in high school. Everything covered in tape– wallets, pants, backpacks. It should’ve been their freak on a leash faces.

But, being that Manhattan Mini Storage told me they dig Sick City Windows and well, if you tell me you like my blog (and have sick windows like say, gowns made of packing material) theres a good chance you’ll wind up on it. Oh and did I mention they also have some of the chicest ads around… I’m kind of a junkie- don’t hate.

**Material Possessions…

Manhattan Mini Storage, 420 East 62nd

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April 24, 2012

Le Turb.

For those of you just getting on the flower halo, crown, whatever it is bandwagon– don’t you fucking dare. Not only are they considerably less chic than having your shaman weave real flora through your locks, rousing your animal spirit while tripping in a bus on your way to ‘roo–by now you should know that once something makes it to Pinterest its over, like Mandy Moore over. Don’t blame me, blame your trend whoring selves.

We all remember feathers right? Who could forget! One naked hippie at Burning Man thinks its a good idea to accessorize with the plumage of a dead peacock and all of a sudden the free bird look is in. I can’t lie, I too found myself quill visioned, scouring the 103 degree city for just the right colors to say “Hey, I fly high in first class but I’m still grounded,” and let me tell you there were none. Why? Because all of the continental U.S. was doing the same– young, old, Roseanne.

It wasn’t until a friend of mine told me about her stripper friend “doing feathers” for cheap (no pun intended) and poof there I was living out my rooster fantasy. For a total of eleven minutes until I got home and realized I looked more of a dick than the cock I set out to. Promptly liberating my locks (in the process losing 6 months of hard earned growth!) I took a long look in the mirror (is there any other kind?) and scolded myself for the first time since Rocketdogs for getting on a runaway trend train.

So while flowers are having their (belated) moment in fashion- I’d like to take a moment for le turb. Another hair’cessory with a shelf like of about three more minutes, okay three and a half- before they too flood Pinterest and fest heads all over. Just remember ladies, its super important to find one that speaks eloquently and dignified, telling the outside world, ”I’m some kind of ethnic– caucasian its called, but my turb is definitely Lanvin!” Happy pinning. I mean shopping.

The Star: Anna Sui Star Printed, The Tan: Eugenia Kim Chiara, The Red: Lanvin Crepe Jersey, The Pink: Eugenia Kim Chiara, The Missoni: Zigzag Crochet Knit, The Black: Norma Kamali

Images courtesy of ManRepeller & Style.Lifegoesstrong.com.

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April 23, 2012

Dedicated to the Obvi. Obviously.

I’d like to share something with you all that is very dear to my heart, assuming I still have one of course. A post dedicated to stating the obvious. Definition: something easily seen, recognized or understood; open to view or knowledge; evident. What it is, is a disgusting part of every day life so morally depraved that my reactions to the verbal redundancy have in the past caused entire displays of Oliver Peoples’ to shatter, baby hearts to stop beating, Birkins to burst and left friendships in Pompeiian ruins; the real cause of Nipplegate (sorry Janet, that was totally my fault, nothing personal) and may or may not have caused Columbine, Katrina and Oklahoma City… Wicked destruction I know, sorry about that. It’s just that I really hate, I mean obesity in crop top hate, when I hear any of the following:

It could be worse. I know who Jessica Simpson is. I’ve seen Fashion Star. Trust me, I know how bad it could be but dont you dare for a covetous second try to diminish my plight as a single, white, formerly Jewish, now Aetheist female.

Is this a shirt or a dress? Neither asshole, it’s a fucking tunic. Hence why you can’t figure out whether the garment before you is a shirt or a dress.

Muscle weighs more than fat. True. But heroine chic will always weigh less.

There’s no such thing as normal. If there was no such thing as normal there would be no word for it. Nor would there be words for simple minded, redundant, deficient, obtuse, fuck faces– you get where I’m going.

I should’ve never listened to that hair stylist. This is a no brainer. Never under any circumstance trust anyone willing and eager to take shears to your magnificent mane. Remember, hair stylists (like Gingers) are soul’less drones who want nothing more than to cut and dye you back to the 90′s– something about a return of boy bands and mushroom cuts.

Two permits do not equal a license. But– one out of state license will permit you a discount at Bloomies.

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