Eeeeeeeek!

Yes, dear readers, that is the exact noise I made the moment I realized it's been eleven days since my last post. I was planning on crafting some elaborate story involving a ninja or a rogue spider to explain my absence, but the truth is much more humble than that: I bought myself an iPod Touch last weekend, and I've stayed awake into the wee hours downloading apps and marveling at just how cool the thing is and thus, not posting. Epic fail!

I did put down my new toy long enough to click on a banner ad for Cole Haan and fall in love with a pair of black suede round-toe pumps. I'm hoping the sight of these beautiful babies will hold you all over until I get my act together. (Soon!) Till later!

Cole Haan Air Koko Pump, $198

Sassooned

One of the perks of writing a fashion blog and an online style column is that fashion people want to give me stuff. And I want to take it. Especially last Thursday, when I was offered a tour of the new Sassoon salon on Boylston Street, a preview of their Autumn/Winter collection, and a haircut on the house. Jackpot!

To be perfectly honest, it was the first time I'd ever set foot in a Sassoon salon. My fairly high-maintenance color and tendencies towards cheapskatery have had me going to Blaine (or Empire, or whatever the heck they're calling themselves these days), where a cut, color, and a blow dry cost me around $25. The work is done by students who usually soak me during the shampoo, but for the price I keep my mouth shut and wear old clothes.

Needless to say, I was pretty impressed with the level of posh-ness at Sassoon. I was introduced to my stylist - an uber-fashionable young woman named Kathleen Sullivan - and was then whisked away to the most comfortable shampoo chair I've ever had the pleasure of sitting in. (I'm pleased to report that my clothing remained completely dry.) Kathleen then quickly and confidently snip-snipped her way around my head to reveal my new-and-improved look. Someone brought me a cappuccino (no, seriously) while my hair was blow-dried, flat-ironed, and spritzed with some kind of mist that smelled like watermelon. Finally, the big reveal.

Knowing I'd never be able to truly replicate Kathleen's expert flat-ironing, I decided to take photos of my new haircut as soon as I arrived home. I purposely posed in front of a Cassandre poster in the top photo, because I thought that - like the artwork - my hair had a 1930s French vibe to it. The second photo was meant to show off the sharpness of my bangs, but instead looks a bit like a well-styled mug shot. But, you get the idea.

All in all, I'm not really sure how I'm ever going to go back to Blaine after I've been spoiled like this.

Hump-Day Hunk

Cosmopolitan is the kind of magazine that's typically filled with collossally bad relationship advice, tabloid-y celebrity gossip, really trashy fashion and at least one fear-mongering It Happened to Me type of story. Its absolute ridiculousness is why it makes for such fantastic beach reading, and was just what I needed as I was busy burning off the top eight layers of my skin over the weekend. Especially since Cosmo is one of the only ladies' magazines to regularly feature cute shirtless boys such as this one. He's like an updated A.C. Slater for the modern woman, isn't he?

The catch, however, is that Cosmo failed to mention the identity of this particular cute shirtless boy, so unless a reader out there recognizes him as their friend or brother or pool boy or something, then we're out of luck. Epic fail!

Image: Cosmopolitan

About a Sunburn

I'm going to just cut to the chase: I got totally fried at the beach this past Saturday. No body part was spared, with the only white skin left being the outline of my (super-cute retro polka-dot J. Crew) bikini.

For those who have never seen me in person, it should be noted that I am exceptionally fair-skinned, and burn easily. Twenty minutes outside in the summer with no sunscreen means I am already starting to crisp. I personally know a decent amount of people with similar skin tones and tendencies towards sunburn. Yet I often feel as if I am the one single fair-skinned person in the entire universe, because from a very early age, I have been subjected to the most asinine of questions and commentary from people in my own extended family to classmates to people I've never even met before. Whether I like it or not, the topic of my skin color is apparently always open for discussion. Some gems I've heard along the way include:

"Do you not like going outside? Is that why you're so fair?"
No. I'm fair because I'm Caucasian with mostly Northern European ancestry. Do you dislike going outside? Because that might explain why you're retarded.

"Do you wear, like, SPF 100?"
And this is important information because ... oh right. It's not.

"Your legs are really white"
I'm not sure what color you expected them to be, but they typically match the rest of my body. Thanks for pointing that out, though.

"You're probably the whitest person in this class"*
Now, let's guess who's the biggest asshole!

*No word of a lie, this comment came from a teacher when I was a senior in high school, in front of the rest of the class, no less.

"You look like a porcelain doll"
Except I'm a living human being and I can't be had for six easy payments of $9.99. Though in this person's defense, I think she meant it as a compliment.

"I like that white creamy type"
Lucky me.

In a nutshell, I'm either being criticized for my fair skin, or fetish-ized. Neither of those sentiments are appreciated, especially when I can't sleep on my back, or sit comfortably on the couch, or even wear a slim-fitting shirt because my skin hurts. I'm in pain; isn't that enough? Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some aloe to apply.

Evil, or Just an Easy Target?

I can't believe I'm coming to the defense of a department store chain I haven't set foot in since high school, but after reading Cintra Wilson's recent New York Times article on the dreadful uncoolness that is JC Penney, I feel compelled to respond.

Wilson accuses the store of selling cheaply-made, mass-produced, dowdy and derivative clothing designs with the kind of vitriol usually reserved for the Wal-Marts of the world. JC Penney and stores like it - Kohl's, Sears, etc. - have been hit where it hurts during the recession, so it seems unnecessary (and totally moot) to kick them while they're down. Not to mention, JC Penney is hardly the only offender. You'd be hard-pressed to find clothing in an upscale department store that wasn't mass-produced and manufactured overseas. As for matters of taste, I will just say that tacky crap is sold everywhere. Case in point: Juicy Couture is sold at Saks Fifth Avenue, and Ed Hardy is sold at Nordstrom.

The article drips with pretension as she discusses the chain's "bridge" lines, the lower-priced collections from big-name designers, like Ralph Lauren and Nicole Miller. At one point she pauses to inquire, "Who the heck is Allen Schwartz?" which is somewhat absurd considering a) she's a fashion writer who should know these things, and b) Allen Schwartz is a well-publicized designer known for creating knock-offs of celebrities' Oscar gowns. He's even been on Oprah, although I'm thinking Oprah is still too Middle America for Ms. Wilson. I haven't seen this kind of pretension since the day a former colleague of mine pretended not to know what Pepsi tasted like.

Halfway through her rant, Wilson switches gears to focus on an even easier target. She writes:

It took me a long time to find a size 2 among the racks. There are, however, abundant size 10’s, 12’s and 16’s ... [JC Penney] has the most obese mannequins I have ever seen. They probably need special insulin-based epoxy injections just to make their limbs stay on. It’s like a headless wax museum devoted entirely to the cast of “Roseanne.”

Let me get this straight. She's accusing JC Penney of being outdated and behind the times, yet she's making a reference to Roseanne? She must not have heard that the approximate average size for an American woman is 14, explaining the "abundance" of those sizes. It's called knowing your customer. Obesity epidemic or not, women of all sizes still need to clothe themselves, and JC Penney is taking advantage of that sales opportunity. Moreover, if she's not going to be shopping there anyway, why does she care so much about the sizing?

Then, she becomes patronizing, but not without a healthy dose of condescension and big-city snobbery:

Since Penney’s remains so doggedly unchanged, it seems to be a familiar place for tourists on a budget; they feel comfortable buying at Penney’s, and these clothes still feel special, because they were bought in New York City.

Gosh, how simple those fat, tasteless Middle Americans are. They just ache for anything - anything - purchased in a big, glamourous city like New York. Even if it's something they could just as well have purchased at their local mall. On behalf of those "tourists on a budget": don't flatter yourself.

Sure, the clothes at JC Penney aren't especially cool. But because they're trying to appeal to as wide of an audience as possible (pun unintended, I swear!), the trends tend to get watered-down. So, which is worse: mass-produced styles that appeal to the general public that are reasonably priced, or mass-produced styles that appeal to fashion victims that cost an arm and a leg?

Image: Bloomberg.com

Hump-Day Hunk

At long last football season is upon us, and what better Hunk to celebrate with than the New England Patriots' own Tom Brady? In addition to making a much-discussed post-injury comeback this season, he is the September cover model for Details magazine. Unfortunately - but not surprisingly - the article focuses more on the various happenings in his personal life than his football career, or even his own personal style.

Then again, with photos like these, who's reading the article?

Image: Men.Style.com

Miley Cyrus' New Line for Wal-Mart Features Groundbreaking Designs Such as T-Shirts and Tank Tops

Let me preface this post by saying that I make a conscious effort not to purchase celebrity-endorsed or designed (and I use the term "designed" loosely) clothing and accessories. I do this for a few reasons, one being the ever-growing pool of talented, creative, innovative clothing designers unable to make a living doing what they do best because they can't even begin to compete with the cheap, mass-produced, foreign-made, celebrity-licensed throwaway clothing that is currently being produced. Not to mention the dumbing-down of fashion itself as a result; it's not terribly difficult to "design" a screen-printed t-shirt.

I usually do, however, try to get a good look at the designs when they're introduced, even if it's just to scoff and roll my eyes. And there was certainly a bit of scoffing and eye-rolling going on this morning as I browsed Miley Cyrus' new line for Wal-Mart.

Full disclosure: Miley Cyrus drives me absolutely nuts. It's primarily a combination of my scorn for tween culture, her happy-crappy music, and the fact that, until she came on the scene, Billy Ray Cyrus was still universally uncool.

With that said, her clothing line isn't really all that bad. It's just not very interesting. (With the exception of the t-shirt/vest combo pictured above, of course; every time I see it, my first thought is that it's a giant black bra.) The majority of Miley's line consists of camisole tank tops, leggings, skinny jeans, more camisole tank tops, screen-printed tees and - I kid you not - a pair of stirrup pants.

To her credit, some of the items are actually cute, and the most expensive item in the collection is $20 (for a pair of skinny jeans), which is more than I can say for the likes of L.A.M.B. or Sean John or whatever, and is something I sure would have appreciated at the young age that most of Miley's fans likely are. But I have a hard time believing that Miley isn't busy lining her pockets with cash regardless of the low retail prices of her products ... which brings me right back to the myriad reasons why I don't buy this stuff.

Juniors Trompe L'Oeil Vest Tee, $10.00
Juniors Graphic Tee, $7.00

Bits and Pieces

Harvard introduces a brand new clothing line for men who love expensive pink seersucker [Jezebel]

Mr. Potato Head invasion at, of all places, Barneys New York [That's Hideous]

I adore this outfit; it's made me look at dhoti pants in a whole new way [The Glamourai]

Style notes from Lollapalooza [Apocalypstick Now]

Remembering John Hughes through his movie fashion moments [Refinery 29]

I wish I lived in a warm, sunny climate so I could dress like this every day [Hi Styley]

One word: wow [The Sartorialist]

Image: Jezebel

Hump-Day Hunk: John Hamm

For those of you waiting with bated breath for the start of the third season of Mad Men on August 16th, I present to you a little Don Draper for your visual pleasure.

Unless you've been living under a rock for the past year or so, and your first foray back into polite society is this blog (if so: I'm flattered!), then you know that it's been Mad Men-mania these last few months, with themed promotions and games, not to mention the indirect influence the show has had on fashion.

I, for one, would love to see a return to this style of dressing for men in particular, since "men's fashion" tends to be bit of an oxymoron these days. But more on this another time; let's just, for now, enjoy the view.

Image: The Steel Closet

Ed Hardy Must Die

I was originally hoping to avoid addressing this pervasive trend of tattoo-design screen-printed Ed Hardy clothing, bags and every other product one person might possibly desire (also known as brand licensing gone berserk), but, alas, here I am. It was last week, when I spotted a generic-looking tourist in his early 40s (not exactly the target demographic) riding the T in Boston and wearing a loud lime green Ed Hardy t-shirt, that I realized this ridiculous trend was everywhere. Now, I can think of a thousand reasons why I wish the Ed Hardy brand would disappear - ranging from the death of good taste to the economic and social impact of faddish, disposable clothing - however, I will stick to five good reasons to steer clear in the hopes that if we ignore it long enough, it will go away.

1. Let's start with the most obvious. I could get philosophical here and argue that the styles are contrived, or overdesigned, or victim-y or whatever, but I will speak in layman's terms: the styles are tacky and they hurt my eyes.

2. See that pink butterfly monstrosity pictured above? It's over a hundred bucks. For cotton and spandex dipped in ugly.

3. It may well become the official uniform of philandering husbands in the midst of mid-life crises. See also: Jon Gosselin.

4. In a time when people are losing their jobs left and right and businesses are going under, a $100 logo-covered cotton t-shirt (that's most likely manufactured overseas for mere pennies) screaming for everyone's attention is kind of obnoxious. Honestly, it's pretty obnoxious even in a good economy.

5. This stuff is going to be hard to get rid of when it goes out of style. Consignment shops likely won't touch it. Don't believe me? Well then, are you interested in an old Von Dutch trucker hat? No?

Image: JustJared.com

Vogue Thinks You're Old and Your Knees are Ugly

Each month, Vogue's "Point of View" page aims to set the overall tone for the issue, introducing themes that tie together the fashions featured, explaining the cultural relevance of said fashions, and churning out a lot of tired clichés about fashion and womanhood. This month, Point of View outdid itself:

How we feel about ourselves has more than a little to do with how well we care for ourselves. Style isn't imposed on us by the Establishment.

Coming from the premiere fashion Establishment itself, I find this statement a little difficult to swallow. Vogue, you're not exactly the Daily Worker; please, let's cut the crap.

We are each a painted butterfly, with a different pattern on our wings.

Sounding much like it was plagarized verbatim from a motivational poster hanging on the wall at Vogue headquarters, this is the kind of garbage that's supposed to make you feel all warm and fuzzy towards a pair of $900 shoes. Sometimes "goddess" may be substituted for "butterfly," because you know, we women just eat that fluffy stuff up.

It's never been more true that you are only as old as you feel. You don't have to resign yourself to a life of tastefully restrained suits the minute you pass 35.

Until, of course, tastefully restrained suits are "in" again. But hey! Decrepit thirty-five-year-olds, hang on to your walkers, because we've got news for you:

Does this mean the average grand-mère should reveal her legs in walking shorts? Obviously not. Discernment and bare-knuckled self-critique go a long way.

But...they just said that...*sniff*...I was a b-b-butterfly!

The message we hope you'll take home from this issue is that any woman can translate the runway trends to her own benefit today.

Any woman who's under eighteen and conventionally beautiful, that is. Otherwise, the message is to stay indoors and out of public view, you old toad.

Image: StyleFrizz.com