Godammit, I’m Mad!

Would you wear this weasel fur jacket by Lanvin?  How about if it costs $13,000?  Is Alber Elbaz having a little joke with himself?  How many weasels were involved, do you think?

I’m sure I’m a despicable hypocrite for loving fur, and drawing the line at weasels. But there you go. Fox, yes. Weasel, no.

This Miu Miu jacket is a better buy at $1,800 (pre-order at Matches.com) and it would look nice with my new cane. Let’s not call it a cane, though. It’s a ‘walking stick!’  I don’t think the birds have to die to make marabou jackets.  Actually, the more I look at this jacket, the more I’m convinced that the birds wanted to sacrifice themselves for me and Miu Miu.

When I went googling marabou, I found these slippers.

The wonderful thing about them is the name of the website: Romance-Your-Wife.  It promises Husbands that “no intimate attire will make your wife feel more womanly” than these slippers!

I’m off to investigate the other stuff at Romance Your Wife, just in case my own husband has overlooked anything.

Kilian Hennessy, heir to the Hennessy cognac family, is a perfumer whose fragrances come in swanky black packaging. He looks kind of  faux-decadent, in a good way. I would totally go shopping with him, at the very least. Here is Hint Magazine’s description of his newest perfume, called “Prelude to Love: Invitation.”

Prelude to Love: Invitation ($225 for 50 ml, $2,500 for a liter barrel) keeps lockstep with its brethren in its ridiculous name and orgiastic theme, but it’s instantly forgivable once we smell the contents. Inspired by a Rimbaud poem, it’s flavored like a leaf-flavored pastille pierced with lemon pepper, an off-limits candy greenness reminiscent of when you start to feel naughty down there. At Bergdorf Goodman.

Hahahaha! Check out his other “quietly lewd” fragrances here.

“I’m all about a leopard shoe right now. I’ll wear these high/low style with a worn-out tee and skinnies”

-Maureen, copywriter. ( re Pedro Garcia shoes )

How many things are wrong with this statement from today’s front page at Shopbop, in a feature called Shopbop Obsessions?

This is what’s ruining online fashion for me. I can’t take the jargon. It is killing me. I am almost numb to the use of “rock” as a synonym for “wear.” But not quite. I can’t bear the word “obsessed’’ used as a substitute for I Love. When I read the words “I’m obsessed with this new lipstick by NARS,” I picture some girl who can’t stop thinking about the lipstick, maybe even stalking the lipstick for all I know. Can’t the term “obsession” still keep its meaning?  “Awesome” used to mean something, too. Now, if you see the Northern Lights or the Grand Canyon, you will need to say “The sight was breathtaking.” Awesome is what you say now when someone says “Dinner’s ready.”

I can’t stand the infantilisms either. The Brits do it more for some reason, but the US is catching up. Hoodie, lippie, cardie, booties, and now, apparently, “skinnies.”  Eeoow! Ugh!

Calling shoes “kicks” may be years old but it still feels like a knife in my stomach when I see this word. How about “mixing it up” as a fashion term? Jesus, am I the only one with an oversensitive ear?

Meanwhile, a “fan” has “suggested” that I am an exhibitionist. Okay then! Here’s my favorite photo of 2008, displaying the always popular Sister Wolf Beehive.

Do you like looking at ridiculous menswear? Do you long to see low-rent pimps, a fat guy in a crazy Zoot Suit, or fake crocodile shoes in every color of the rainbow? Good, because this is the place.

Earlier today, I was very annoyed by a crazy bitch who’s been taunting me online. But then I realized that if I had to go around kicking the ass of every single person I’ve somehow pissed off, I’d have no time for anything else.

Even better, I came across these godforsaken boots at Neiman Marcus, and my life was once again filled with joy. Who would buy these monstrosities?!  Besides Cher and Pamela Anderson, I mean.

They are priced at $395, a small price to pay for all this grotesque ugliness! Just try deciding which pair is worse!

Yesterday, when I wasn’t busy with penises, I found this leather skirt that I can’t afford, but still covet. The pleated ruffles just kill me! What wouldn’t look great with this skirt?

So now I’m aware of Hartmann Nordenholz, who designed these amazing dresses. Do you love him or do you love him?

My pal enc wants these Prada Boots, which Neiman Marcus will gladly provide for $1,200.  In a lucky coincidence, I found my self online last night, hypnotized by crazy boots at Amazon.

Once I started looking, I couldn’t stop. It’s like eating Oreo cookies. You must keep going until the package is empty. I found a style that’s similar to the Prada, at a savings of $1,150.

Call me nuts, but I just don’t see why anyone needs Prada. I feel the same about the Lanvin ballet flats. The only reason to pay $500 for them is to feel special for wasting all that money. You can waste only $134 at Sue London for the same buttery soft quality, plus they come with a matching leather shoe bag!

I think I’m as brainwashed as anyone into craving luxury items at insane prices. But more and more, I’m wondering if the initial rush is worth it. Do we really need the tag to say Prada or Chanel to feel good about ourselves? I’m starting to feel “Been there, Done that” about luxury items. But maybe you need to own a beat up, poorly constructed Chanel bag to achieve this attitude.

It’s not like I’ve transcended snobbery or anything. I’d still go barefoot before buying shoes by Jessica Simpson. I still recoil from Juicy Couture. In fact, if I stop, someone call a doctor!

Back to the splendor of the crazy boots at Amazon (and speaking of Doctors) here is one I’d like for the boudoir:

And here’s the one that upset me the most.

Sometimes, things that are awful bring us joy; but sometimes, they’re just plain awful. Queen Marie was rightly offended by the notion of fake high-heels made for babies. For $35, you can buy a pair of these shoes, put them on a baby and laugh your ass off. Ha ha, look at the baby! You could also put sunglasses and jewelry on the baby and laugh even more. Sister Wolf says, Give that $35 to a homeless shelter and leave the baby alone.

As a fur-lover and proud carnivore, I am usually happy to see fur accessories, but here’s something that shocked me with it’s assaultive ugliness. Not only are these leg-warmers an abomination, they are even sold out! Presumably, whoever bought them is somewhere right now, laughing at babies in high heels.

For the third and final No, I bring you this photo courtesy of The Look-See. These models were used by Yohji, Etro, and Ann Demeulemeester in Milan. They are not conventional male model types, get it? They are old geezers! This is so funny, like high heels on a baby! But I would rather stick with handsome boys.

The moral here is that some people will be fooled into accepting awfulness as some sort of post-modern joke, but We are simply not having it.

None of us like Handbag Snobbery (unless we are the ones disparaging someone else’s choice of handbag.) I don’t even like it when a person praises my handbag, for god sake. When Susie B wrote about suffering the disdainful gaze of two awful Handbag Snobs on a train, my heart went out to her.  I should start making little badges that say “Please don’t stare at my handbag.”

It’s a difficult situation if you care about style and fashion. I love my bags for being both beautiful and expensive. I love them for being not the ones that are obvious and popular. But on some occasions, I don’t want the burden of my enormous handbag. So I pack my essentials into a bag that I selected for it’s stomach-turning ugliness.

Check out its ugly features. The flower thing made out of a zipper, the studded wristlet, the gold handcuff things dangling there for no reason, and the purple plastic that is actually transparent even though you can’t tell from the picture. It is eight X five inches of pure eyesore.  All that for $11.

And speaking of eyesore, today at the mall I walked past a shoe-store window and was assaulted by a vision from hell itself: Gladiator sandals in a rainbow of awful colors, signifying to me that gladiators have not only jumped the shark, they have eaten and regurgitated the shark. Behold the wares of Shiekh shoes.

The results are in. I have learned that I am too old and cranky to model for a camera, not to mention changing outfits. Notice how these overalls make me look like I’m wearing jodhpurs. I look like a hippo. No matter how many times I am forced to whine that “I’m not fat in real life” god has decided to make me sound like a lying hippo.

Whosoever wants these overalls and wears a US 4 is welcome to them. They have little zips at the ankles, so being short might be a problem. Simply write a nice compliment about hippos and you win!

Here is what happened another time I tried to model.

Oh well. Next time I decide to model something, I will fucking well put on a girdle or truss or something.

On a brighter note, I just found out here that the FIT Museum is putting together an exhibit called “Dark Glamour”, devoted to the gothic in fashion. Thank you, Susan!  This is all the excuse I need to plan a trip to New York.