Archive for September, 2010

Neonatal Fashion Blogging

September 13, 2010

That's me!

Move over, Tavi!  Hold on to your highchair, “Katie”!  There’s a new fashion blogger in town –– and compared to her, you girls are older than Larry King.  This four-month-old as-of-yet-unnamed female fetus is hitting the Big Apple and aiming her keen (if slightly underdeveloped) eye toward the runways at Lincoln Center.

Watch as this blip on the radar screen takes on Spring RTW 2011 collections and the parties in between…


I’m sloshing around my mom’s uterus as the taxi speeds down 7th Avenue toward SoHo.  Even without the stop-and-go traffic, I’d still be reeling from today’s Peter Som show.  The vivid pastel 50’s prints were so Sally Draper and would look fantastic against my near-translucent epidermis, if I do say so myself.  Tonight we’re on our way to see Hamish Bowles, European editor-at-large of Vogue magazine, perform a cabaret show at the Rug Co.  Not surprisingly, his repertoire consists of mostly Noel Coward songs.

Mommy is wearing a diaphanous Philosophy di Alberta Ferretti number.  I’m draped in amniotic fluid.  We’re both looking chic and formless this evening.  To our right I see gamine Meredith Melling Burke perched on a stack of rugs.  Her look is very Rasputin-in-an-opium-den-surrounded-by-Russian-twinks, and she looks, as always, FAB.  Beside her, Diane Kruger, donning a Jason Wu magenta chiffon Grecian wrap and sipping from a glass of Pimm’s.  Looking slightly bewildered in an outfit reminiscent of Joe Pesci’s wardrobe in With Honors is the delightful pumpkin Lynn Yaeger.  Perhaps the absence of her Village Voice paycheck is hitting her harder than she thought it would.  Either that or “bobo” style is coming back!

Hamish is mingling with guests looking ever the dandy in a Tom Ford tux with a big green flower pinned to his jacket.  Mommy grabs a glass of Veuve (good thing I’m barely visible, or she’d be hit with some seriously disapproving looks) and swigs it while fondling $350 needlepoint pillows decorated with sunglasses and Union Jacks.  Terence Koh grabs her butt and tells her she looks like a “ravaged peacock –– a vision in derangement” and then begins to squawk as he skips back toward the bar.  His look is a contrived eccentricity –– a jacket covered with white bulbous protrusions and a black cloth wrapped around half his face.  He looks like the prematurely-delivered offspring of the Human Centipede, and all I want is to orchestrate a photo shoot in which he and a small army of midget Chinese women model Richie Rich clothing in the Syrian desert.  Tavi Gevinson, I will beat you some day!

There is a trio of adorable girls nearby, one of whom wears white rabbit fur and looks like the second coming of Kristy Swanson circa Flowers in the Attic.  Fall 2011, I’m predicting a return of the ashen dead-look complete with decaying flesh.  My new style icon is the Cryptkeeper from Tales from the Crypt. If you’re wondering how I know so much despite the fact that I’m still in utero, one word: reincarnation.  Fuckers.

See, the thing I love about fashion is that while many feel it’s a realm only for the elite, it’s actually something that is accessible to everyone, even unborn worm-like creatures with primitive brain functioning like me.  I can’t count, but I can assert that Vena Cava’s recent collection was matronly at its most divine.  I barely have a body, but I can celebrate the way Doo Ri’s designs fit them.

Hamish has disappeared, which makes me think the show is about to begin, and Mommy is sloshed, which makes me think I may have to repeat kindergarten.  Suddenly a havoc breaks out around the door.  It seems Anna Wintour, the queen of fashion herself, has arrived!  I covet her ubiquitous bob, the way it accentuates her face, which is fetus-like and alien in a way I obvi relate to.  Her plain Jane daughter Bee trails behind her looking about as exciting as as rubber cement.   Following the two and a small entourage of lanky women is Andre Leon Talley wearing the fluffy hide of an indistinguishable animal.  My God, what I wouldn’t give to be swaddled in that garment.

The show begins and Mommy stumbles to a seat.  Time for me to turn off my Twitter and listen to the sweet crooning of Bowles and the accompanying piano.  If I had lips, I’d kiss all my dear readers!  Tomorrow’s post is Alexander Wang from a fetus’ eye view: a critique of the outfits from mid-thigh down.

Back-to-School Reading

September 11, 2010


September 9, 2010

I’m writing a review of a really difficult book of poetry by a TOO knowledgeable Pulitzer Prize winner and the only phrase I can think to describe the first draft is “top-heavy.”


September 7, 2010

A good friend of mine, City of Angels citizen and saxophone accompanist to Molly Ringwald’s jazz crooning, animates probably the only thing I watch on YouTube, short clips about a hopeful dreamer and down-and-out hero named Smigly.  Smigly was recently featured in a big article in Tina Brown’s The Daily Beast.  From writer James Gavin:

“If it pains you to see flesh-and-blood contact disappearing in a digital world, you might relate to Smigly, an average guy in search of love. Dumped by corporate America, he sits on the landing of his apartment, blowing his saxophone while a neighbor jeers: ‘You know the tune, ‘Go Get Lost’?’ He chokes on a nut, and his girlfriend won’t look up from her laptop. He becomes a ventriloquist, and gets laughs only when the dummy pees on him. The irony of his quest for human feeling is that he too is unreal; he’s just a figure on a computer screen.

Smigly is a rising YouTube cartoon series with an emotional theme: How do you survive today’s onslaught of rejection while keeping your soul intact? The show’s creator, Allen Mezquida, knows that struggle. When his career as a jazz saxophonist floundered in the late ’90s, Mezquida took up animating and entered the movie business, which repelled him. Now he funnels his conflicts into Smigly. To Don Barrozo, a trumpeter who has edited The Simpsons since its inception, Mezquida’s funny-sad nebbish is the Charlie Chaplin of the cartoon world; his walk alone, says Barrozo, ‘tells you all you need to know about Smigly’s state of mind, be it dejection or elation.'”

Allen says: “Hopefully the SMIGLY article helps spread the word…”

Read the article:

I think Smigly’s TV station is linked on here somewhere.

PS I almost got a job recently doing (I shit you not) re-reporting.  That’s sort of what this feels like, though I have a slight edge with this topic, I think…

How Much for a Cloak?

September 3, 2010

This list of items for sale is posted in my neighborhood and sounds like it could be Dylan Klebold’s autumn purge or something.   (Too soon?)

Star Wars memorabilia

Bruce Lee memorabilia

movie weapon replicas

rare horror magazines

The Joker framed poster

The Punisher framed poster

Marvel Super Heroes framed poster

Brandon Lee’s The Crow clock


beanie babies

Elvira figurine

Magic the Gathering cards

trench coats


CDs, DVDs, old VHS tapes and cassettes

There were admittedly some more “normal” items on there, like books, but my guess is that his library is full of serials and worn out copies of The Anarchists’ Cookbook.

Mennonite Kid

September 2, 2010

Thanks to the Sartorialist.

More Adventures in Craigslist

September 2, 2010

So I’m scarily poor and job-less (I know my father reads this occasionally, and yes, Dad, this is a veiled cry for help) and trolling around Craigslist (amongst other, less sketchy sites) looking for jobs.  I’ve pretty much been throwing my resume at anyone who provides an email address, and oftentimes I get responses from people who then fear I’m “over-qualified” for the position.  Which makes sense, because I’m pretty damn qualified.  A woman told me the other day she feared I would be “bored” at the position she’s looking to fill, and I almost felt like responding, “Well, it is a job, right?  So of course, I’d be bored.”

Ah, the plight of the unemployed “writer” who lives in Brooklyn and is tattooed!  The Times magazine is shivering with glee at the prospect of another whiny youngster with such a cynical and lazy view toward work.

This is all beside the point.

In any case, whilst perusing Craigslist, I come across some pretty interesting ads, such as the one cut-and-pasted below:

Young, 20-something high-profile female is in need of someone who LOVES to organize (apartment, closets, etc.), and assist with personal duties (errands, reservations, etc.). The perfect candidate is someone who is looking for flexible, part-time work on an “on-call” basis. If the candidate loves to clean, then more hours will be available to clean a 2 bedroom, 1.5 bath apartment and do laundry a few times each week when client is in town. Client travels and needs someone to unpack, keep apartment and closets organized, and keep this busy gal in line! Please email name, phone number, general location of residence, age/sex and a photo if available. Candidate must be very meticulous, flexible, and confidentiality is imperative. First task is organizing, taking items to resale shops and donation centers and cleaning. This will be done with client’s family member sometime in late September/early October. This could be a great job for a student who needs flexible working hours.

  • Compensation: $12/hour
  • Principals only. Recruiters, please don’t contact this job poster.
  • Please, no phone calls about this job!
  • Please do not contact job poster about other services, products or commercial interests.

This is totally for, like, Paz de La Huerta or some equally erratic “busy gal!” with delusions of grandeur, and the job probably includes sterilizing needles and wiping the watery mascara from beneath her eyes after she has a meltdown because a casting agent tells her that with her naughty rep,  disheveled public appearances and “coke bloat” she may no longer be able to play the ingenue.  For 12 bucks an hour!  So not worth the hassle.


September 2, 2010

It is not healthy for anyone (children or parents) to have a family with more than six kids.