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Storm in a B-Cup

Boobs. Tits. Jugs. Knockers.

Helloooooo there!

When I was younger, I’d go down South to visit my grandparents every Christmas. Aside from the weather, the Apple Jacks, and the all-you-eat early-bird specials, there was the shopping. Aventura, Boca Town Center, Galleria Mall, Pompano Fashion Square. They all had one thing in common, aside from Burdines: Victoria’s Secret.

One of the highlights of each trip would be my annual Vicky’s Secret excursion with my grandmother. My Bubby would install her plus-sized self in one of the fitting rooms – preferably with a snack – while I grabbed as many 34-B bras that I could find. At first they were simple: nothing too lacy, nothing too showy and absolutely no falsies! I’d bring armloads of bras and start trying. One after the other, until she’d find herself at the bottom of a sea of underwear – and underwire. We’d bring them back to Palm Aire and I’d model them for her underneath my various t-shirts and dresses.

This went on from my teens until well-into my twenties. Sure, I erred on the nippy side, but I didn’t care if my headlights were showing. Heroine chic was all the rage. And while I couldn’t compete with the waifs, I certainly had the chest for the tops I liked.

And then I tried on a WonderBra.

Well! Helloooo ladies indeed!

Victoria’s Secret? Out. Marks and Spencer? In.

And so it went. I lived in London and the Florida trips became more sporadic. I still went and we still shopped, but I’d moved on from Victoria’s Secret. A large and in charge Marks & Sparks bra fitter had helped me to see the light – not the headlight. I was loyal to my bras. And they were loyal to me.

And then I got pregnant. And breastfed. Repeat three times. Lovely babies. Lovely boys. Less than lovely boobs despite my fabulous M & S underthings. They helped me through the ups and the downs. And the further downs. Until I noticed there was an awful lot of…room…in them there cups. It was time. To reinvest.

And then a few weeks back I found myself staring into an enormous pair. It was a Victoria’s Secret window and it was huge – as was the bust. Or was it? I stepped over the threshold and let myself go. Shopping American Style. Claire guided me to the bra area. Vivian whipped out her tape measure and got to work. Lynne ushered me into the fitting room. With a bra box. And a t-shirt.

This was not my grandmother’s VS.

Gone were the rummaging through tables and rifling through drawers to find my size, shape and colour. No more undressing mannequins to find a bra that wasn’t fuchsia. This was civilized.

Inside the bra box was each and every bra in the Victoria’s Secret arsenal. In black. The idea being you try ’em all on and find the ones you like. And that like you. Then you ring the “service bell” and they get to work finding your choices.

Incredible.

25 minutes later, I emerged, head held high, tits even higher. Leopard-lined and seamless, biofitted and bombshelled, there were some new bras in town!

The icing on the cake? I was the same size as pre-children. A little lower, maybe, but with the new boob technology out there, who cares? Comfy AND sexy were no longer a contradiction in terms. No fuss, no muss, no knives.

Their latest bra is The Plunge – guaranteed to add two bra sizes for “hourglass ooomph”. A boob job for $45! If my Bubby could see me now….

1 comments:

Rob H said…

Need more Blog Postings… what the hell is up! This year has been sooo slim!

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November 23, 2009   No Comments

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Lulu’s for Lemons

Check out the following statement:

“Look at your cute clogs…I remember when you only wore high heels, were dressed to the nines, and had your hair cut ‘n coloured by that rip-off guy….Now you’re all comfy and relaxed….”

How would you interpret this?

a) that you’re fabulous and chilled; mellowed with age.
b) that the person speaking has a secret ladies’ shoe fetish
c) that you’ve let yourself go

If you said anything other than (c) you’re a moron. Or a man. Same same sometimes. “Comfy”? There’s not a whole lot worse you could call a person, without being straight-out rude! Fact is, lululemon is the best – and worst – thing to happen to a girl since the invention of lycra.

Lulus, and all their knock-off compatriots, have definitely helped the humble sweat pant grow in leaps and bounds. (Excuse the phys ed refs.) But when once they were seen as a somewhat chic way of dressing shlubby (in my mind that is) they’ve now become the ubiquitous uniform for stay at home moms, exercise fanatics, and those of us who need to shed a few.

In other words, they’re the new Fat Pants.

They’re black. They’re flattering. They suck you in in all the right spots. We all wonder how we lived without them…And yet…they let the world know you’re got nothing to wear, something to hide, or both. Outside of the gym, that is. I have one friend who refuses to wear her yoga pants after 12 noon. Another who will only wear them once she’s inside the actual gym. And then there’s me, who (until the clog/relaxed/what happened comment) refused to wear anything but!

Erm, “butt” being the operative word here.

Having a four-month old baby should be excuse enough for kicking back a la lemonata. And yet, it’s not. With my other kids I always knew another pregnancy was on the cards, so never really invested. Sure, I joined a gym (or two) but rarely went. And of course I’m a Weight Watcher lifer. I always got back down to the starting line, give or take 5 lbs. But this time, it’s done. No more babies to be born from this body. It’s time to get back on the horse. The clothes horse that is.

But with an unforgiving, post-partum, 3-baby body it’s easier said than done. Hence the yoga pants. And now it seems they’re no longer an option. Or are they? Sure I remember the days of yore: not necessarily skinny, but definitely stylish. I was the chick who was dressed and blown dry on Sundays. In my apartment. And now? Jeans are my fancy pants. What happened? Have I let myself go? Is the most stylish thing about me my beloved iPhone?

It is pretty stylish…

But I digress. Someone suggested I don’t care as much now about how I look.

WHAT?!?

I straighten my hair for god’s sake. I may colour it myself now, but I still straighten. With products. So I must care. Right?

Let’s set the record straight.

I’M.NOT.GOING.ANYWHERE.

Or anywhere exciting. It’s a short drive from my home to my kids’ schools. Throw in a couple of detours for food ‘n sundries and I’m done. For that I should dress up? How? Back in the day when I did get styley, I was also getting paid. Most of my money went towards feeding my shopping habit. Nowadays, my money isn’t really mine. It’s “ours”. (Well, actually…my money is mine, his money is ours… but I don’t really have any…And that’s another story…) Either way, it’s spoken for.

But not anymore. I’m turning over a new leaf. Or reverting back to an old one. I’m packing up my yoga pants. Putting away my sensible shoes (albeit high-heeled ones). All dressed up with no place to go? That’ll be me. Suited and booted and rarin’ to go. Nowhere. But in style.

At least for this week……

October 30, 2008   No Comments

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Boob

What’s in a name? Everything. BOOB!! You’re up now, right?!

Boob is a newish (to me) line of maternity and nursing wear from Sweden. Yep, Sweden. Those crazy Swedes have gone and named nursing clothes Boob.

Genius.

In name and in nature.

I managed to get my paws on some of their duds and they’re awesome. Pants stay up. In front and in back. Shirts don’t touch where they shouldn’t. In front or in back. And everything stays in its proper place. Properly. Better still, the Boobs at Boob are anything but – they know how to drop a neckline. I have a dress from their fall collection that’s lightweight AND maternity AND, dare I say, kinda hot. And I don’t use the term lightly. Cuz there’s nothing hot about a gal about to give birth in a matter of weeks. Nothin’ but hormones and tempers.

And the Boob neckline.

One thing about being knocked up – you sport a mighty fine rack. You may not always recognize it at the time, but in retrospect? Nice ‘n high ‘n perky. Even the jumbotrons. And for those of us who are somewhat, erm, challenged in that department, when we’ve got ’em, we like to flaunt ’em. And Boob gets it. Lots of other tops made for the mama-to-be like to minimize. High necks. Cheesy collars. Wussy V’s. Go deep or go home, I say. Swing out sisters! Cuz once the babe arrives it’s all downhill. In every way, boob-wise.

Or is it?

I’m pretty hard-core when it came to feeding my kids, whipping one out as and when. Was I strutting round topless? Of course not. But my feeling is, babies have the right to be fed. And if you don’t want to watch? Well, don’t look. It’s possible to be subtle. And stylish too. I was never a believer in “nursing wear”. Bras aside, o’ course. But those weird shirts that you need a degree in aeronautics to open? Pas pour moi. And those godawful frilly nightgowns? Get real. I’d rather stretch out a perfectly good shirt and look somewhat decent in the hours between the feeds then strut around town like some Victorian. One friend of mine had an incredible nursing dress. It came from Victoria’s secret. And she lost it and we’ve never seen the likes of it since.

‘Til now. The Boob nursing tops – or singlets – have these strategic slots. Spots. Openings. Hard to explain. But easy to figure out – basically you lift up one side, drop down the other and you’re locked ‘n loaded. And, again, they’re totally hot. In fact, you could wear these babies even if you’re not nursing. You wouldn’t, to be sure, but you could. Which, to a nursing mama, is nice to know.

I know I’m sounding somewhat evangelical. I swear it’s not just hormones speaking. And if it is? So what?! I have a baby due in 3 weeks, it’s my perogative. Between the hips and the hormones, it’s hard to feel anything but frumpy. Or at least it was. ‘Til I became a Boob girl.

Check out their racks: www.boobdesign.com

1 comments:

Anonymous said…

My friend who is normally so wise- lemme tellya a little something about minimizing (from someone who often seeks to minimize): High necks maximize not minimize! (Strange but true….low necks actually minimize.) Too bad I missed my chance to shop at boob. I will pass it on though.

May 24, 2008   No Comments

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Boots Made for (Winter) Walking

April showers bring May flowers.

So what do March snowstorms bring?

Not a lotta good, that’s what. Icy roads. Snowdrifts taller than most children (and seated seniors). Unpassable sidewalks. An extension of the winter blahs. A renewed interest in weather patterns, records and our role in all of it.

And an excuse to go out and buy new boots. La Canadienne boots.

You haven’t heard of ’em yet? Or you have, but didn’t bite? Whichever, whatever, whoever you are – go go go. Now is the time to bite the bullet, spend the big bucks and spend the rest of this never ending winter in style: toes toasty, feet dry and – believe it or not -in style.

Let’s face it, winter is an ugly time. Sure the snow looks pretty falling down, and when it’s all white and clean it’s quite peaceful. But really, how long does that last? Virgin snow lawns soon give way to grey slush, black ice and worse. The whole season can take its toll on a girl. Especially a footwear girl and, really – are there any other kinds?

I tried Uggs. Of course they’re comfy – they’d better be if they’re that ugly. The suede ones don’t keep your feet dry and the leather ones I had were so halucious they lasted but a season. Yeah, I was that person who went for the leather. Probably the only one. There’s a reason you don’t see more of ’em. H-I-D-E-O-U-S. I tried putting substance before style. It wasn’t easy, And it didn’t last.

So I ruined a pair of hot boots. Froze my tootsies off and wrecked ’em. And for what? So I tried again. This time, went for Sorels. Hard-core Canadian boots. For hard-core Canadian winters. And yeah, I stayed warm (ish) and dry. But again, not the most attractive. Or feminine. Even the long ones that we pretend are kinda like go-go boots aren’t. Not even close.

And then, it happened. A friend of mine discovered winter lady-boots. Lady boots…winter… Contradiction in terms, right? Wrong! La Canadienne boots are warm, cozy, and, dare I say it – kinda hot. In all the right ways. I admit I was skeptical at first, especially with the upwards of $200 price tag. But after another winter of alternating between salt-stained whore or hefty hefty slush slag, a couple hun seemed a small price to pay to be a cozy snow bunny.

My high-to-the-sky lady boots rock. And they work. I’m not sure how – some kind of secret recipe of ultrasuede, rubber and god-knows-what. Who cares? They look fantastic! And trust me kids, they really, really work the winter. And despite their all-kinds-of-hotness, they’re pretty basic. So even if everyone’s wearing the same boots – you can’t really tell. Which beats the hell out of showing up for dinner in your foxy furries – along with half the other girls.

Now that that we’re entering our fifth month of winter, maybe it’s time for a quick shoe shuffle. Snowbanks to climb? Easy. Salt stains and splash back? Laugh it off – they fit over calves of all shapes and sizes. Heels? They’ve got ’em. And need I mention they’re Canadian?

Are you still here? They’re on sale all over town. If you can still find what’s left of them. It’s mid-March after all. What are you waiting for?

2 comments:

John Boy said…

No mas de-boots for me. Why are there no decent boots for dudes on the market? I’m talking winter boots, not fashion boots – I have a million pairs of those (well a million bucks worth at least). I work in a corporate environment and am a self diagnosed fashionista and I wreck a great pair of shoes every winter because I cannot find decent winter boots. I refuse to wear “toe rubbers” as my father still calls them so what’s a boy to do?

2:16 PM

Anonymous said…

I resent the go-go boot comment. They ARE groovy and sexy.

Also, La Canadienes are only guaranteed waterproof for 6 months – did you know that? Although, I am finishing my third season and have yet to feel the water. That being said, I have worn my sexy Sorels a lot! Too much!

March 13, 2008   No Comments

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Go Cheap or Go Home

Is cheap the new black?

Sexy, hip, flattering.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. But is cheap the new black?

Erm, not at Zara. Yeah, it’s chic ‘n cheap but it’s also crap. And not in the disposable way Le Crapeau…I mean Le Chateau… is crap. We’re talking ripped-while-still-on-the-hanger crap, as opposed to wear, tear, and toss crap. Oddly, their kids’ line is not crap. Mind you, it ain’t cheap. But it’s stunning – especially for boys.

Ditto H &M. Awesome duds for the kids, but for ladies? Duds of a different kind. For this gal at least. Believe me, I’ve tried. But ’twas not to be. The fit, the fabric, or just the itch factor – there was always something a bit off.

Winners? Dirty. Old Navy? XXXXXL. Fairweather? Puh-lease. And the list goes on.

So I stuck with fancy. The supersoft shirts, yummy sweaters, perfect pants. All mine. For a price. A very hefty price. And y’know what I found? That a lot of the high end stuff was crap too! No sooner had I washed and worn than I’d find a little teeny tiny hole. Or a snag. Or an unravelled cuff or jagged hem. And don’t get me started on cotton tees that start to ball. It’s the worst.

But what’s a fashion victim to do? Shelling out the big bucks didn’t work. And the cheap and cheerful left me feeling anything but…

Until now.

There’s a new kid in town. Let’s call him Joe. For real. ‘Cuz the place is called Joe Fresh and basically, it’s clothes shopping at Loblaws.

WAIT!

Before you delete and think I must’ve completely lost my mind, read on. I actually debated sharing this dirty little secret. In fact, some friends kindly suggested I keep my mouth shut (at least until after they’d checked it out themselves). But alas loyal readers, you’ve earned it. You’ve shared my blog, you’ve liked my blog – you’ve actually read my blog! So here’s a little tidbit for you.

Joe Fresh. As in Joe-who-used-to-own-Club-Monaco. As in the guy who got lured away by the kind folks at Loblaws. As in who the hell cares? You won’t. Cred be damned! If you can get over the fact that it’s, well, grocery shopping for fashion, you’ll be glad that you did.

Housed in suburban Superstores and in the Old Caban space beside, yup, Loblaws, you will meet Joe Fresh. Nice, plain, simple. And did I mention, cheap? Tees for a tenner. Jeans under $30. And yoga pants and tops that fit and feel EXACTLY like your Lulus – but without the hefty price tag (pants are $29)(that’s right, no type-o: $29)

AND not only are the clothes flattering – the sizes are somewhat generous too. So you can try on stretchy jeans and check out your butt – or thighs, or hips or calves – and marvel at the fact that you’re wearing a size smaller than you thought. Who doesn’t love that? Especially compared to all the fancy pants around that were definitely not designed for women of childbearing age. Paige Jeans excepted.

I got a bit carried away this morning: jeans, shirt, vest, sweater, and more. What with these prices…And the turnover is crazy fast as the stuff flies off the shelves…’Cuz at these prices… Finally, I do hear you, skeptics. It may all turn out to be more disposable fashion crap. Only time will tell. But again, at these prices…

3 comments:

Anonymous said…

Went today and it’s like Club Mon of old, although not as styley. Very good basics, although for me the pant cuts were not nice. Very cheap store-like, although, not the yoga pants which are fab and will be worn on the plane by a non-outside yoga pant wearing person. But I take great offence to your dissing of Winners and Fairweathers. You’d be surprised what basics you can find there that don’t feel disgusting. And well, Winners is for hunters and you ain’t ever been one of those. I have some wicked stuff from there and now I add Joe to my list of easy basics. Thanks for the tip.

11:20 AM

Anonymous said…

This is Dave’s friend Rob… my Wife has been bugging me about this Lulu crap for months now. I sent her right over to the super centre and now she has her Lulu knock off’s and is loving life. Thanks for the tip. You rock. By the way, I personally know one of the managers of Winners and the biggest and best hidden treasures are at the Winners in Barrie right off of the 400. There is a tip for you!

October 12, 2006   No Comments

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Not a Croc

I remember my first spotting. A neighbourhood chicita making her merry way down my street. Nothing out of the ordinary…until I noticed her shoes. Garish neon pink, holes on the top, kinda cloggy, completely hideous. I chalked it up to a one-off fashion crime, never dreaming that what I saw was one of zillions…..

Crocs. They’re here, they’re HIDEOUS, get used to it.

And then a funny thing happened. Amid all the hoopla, I did. Get used to ’em, that is. And then an even funnier thing happened. Funny-strange, not funny-haha. I became a little intrigued.

The thing is, I am and always have been a clog girl. My faves were my old brown ultrasuede ones with the raffia band over the top. Fabulous. I had black suede ones too. Showed dust something awful. And of course who can forget the true classic: treetorn clogs. Come on people, you know the ones: navy or white leather…A sleepover camp staple if there ever was one. Until they were banned. ‘Cuz all the girlies (and some boys) were tripping over their feet and spraining their ankles. But still, dragging your heels, clip-clopping along in your clogs…nothing beat it.

Until now. The clog, in the form of the almighty croc, is back. And, tho’ I hate to admit it, I’ve kinda jumped on the bandwagon…

WAIT!!! It’s not like I’m wearing them – puh-lease. They’re revolting. But at least now I get it. Sorta. You see last week family friends came to visit us at the cottage. I hadn’t seen them in years. And there they all were: Mama Croc, Papa Croc and two little Baby Crocs. The only one NOT in the damn shoes was the baby. And he might’ve been had they come in smaller sizes. After many furtive glances at the family’s feet I had to ask: Why? They rsvp’d with the usual litany of praise – they’re so light, so comfy, so cheap.

So what? They’re ugly!

But then I watched the ease with which Mama Croc got her babes to put their shoes on. Saw the pleasure Papa Croc got from whipping ’em off to jump on the trampoline. My man thought maybe he’d like a pair and I realized:there really was no escape.They’re here to stay.

And if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.

After hitting the streets to track down a couple of pairs – one for the Boy, one for the Man, I realized not only were they hot – they were sold out. Everywhere. DEVASTATION! And now I’m desperate. And have hit the world wibe web to track down any non-beige ones. No, no, not for me. Why would I subject my size 9’s to such fashion agony? It’s not winter. For me, the quick-fix-all-purpose-summer-shoes have been around forever. They’re called flip flops.

But I reasure myself that I mst be the perfect wife and mother. Not only letting my boys be seen in such fashion fiascos. But encouraging it.

Hey, it’s not like I’ll ever be caught dead in a pair. Not yet anyway….

10 comments:

jojo said…

Well, I’m laughing out loud as I read! You know who just received a pair for his 71st birthday and is extatic!
Is walking around the house in them even with his suit on…yuk! Loves the feel…. not to mention that all the grandchildren wear them in & out of the water…. and back in the house!!!! By the way, they stink! They are rubber! The holes are suppose to take care of that but, I don’t think so!!!!
Keep looking for them! Costco has them in all colours!
BUT, not “crocs”……. a knock off of course!
Keep writing; you make me smile…. & laugh.

9:44 AM

jojo said…

Well, I’m laughing out loud as I read! You know who just received a pair for his 71st birthday and is extatic!
Is walking around the house in them even with his suit on…yuk! Loves the feel…. not to mention that all the grandchildren wear them in & out of the water…. and back in the house!!!! By the way, they stink! They are rubber! The holes are suppose to take care of that but, I don’t think so!!!!
Keep looking for them! Costco has them in all colours!
BUT, not “crocs”……. a knock off of course!
Keep writing; you make me smile…. & laugh.

9:44 AM

Anonymous said…

Thanks Jojo for finally telling me what I always knew – they stink!!! There is no way someone with testosterone in their body and feet could have a pair of this shundah footwear without them smelling!! My kids sandlas stink – there is no way a full coverage rubber nightmare won’t! I will resist the masses and say no, I will not go gently into that croc night.

1:13 PM

Anonymous said…

You can get any colour any size at the shoe store on bathurst at melrose, in plaza that has Dani’s hair salon. that’s were I got my babes a pair. none for me though.

2:23 PM

Anonymous said…

Crocs are actually designed NOT to stink- you may want to shell out the extra buck and buy the real ones….and wash once and a while

6:00 PM

jojo said…

JoJo again…… for the last person on your list of comments!

My 71 year old honey does have the “THE CROCS”,
the real ones. They really do smell and I know it is not his feet….. they never smell!!!
The knock off ones are at costco!

6:05 PM

Anonymous said…

Croc pot: These things are ubiquitous, horrendous, and the hit of the summer. Can you imagine the fence at the swim docks when the kids check in– the tens of crocs and the confusion when swim is over. Label ’em up with a magic sharpie– otherwise, your kids is gonna be wearing someone else’s crocs when they leave the docks. A pox!

8:45 AM

Messy Mom said…

LMAO! They are EVERYWHERE here. The “real” crocs, the fake ones, etc. My 7 yr old daughter wants them really badly, but I just keep telling her no. I don’t care if everyone else is wearing them, they are u-g-l-y. When I see them in the stores and see everyone wearing them, I just keep thinking of all the other fashion crazes that I have seen in my almost 40 years on this earth. I actually start to laugh at the multicolored rows of this things. Aren’t they supposed to be GARDENING shoes? I just can’t bring myself to look at those “shoes” and laugh and just say no! I am glad to see that I am not the only one that finds these things amusing.

8:20 PM

Anonymous said…

Incredible…..How many people left comments regarding “ugly shoes”????? Fake??? Real??? Who are we trying to impress??? Garden shoes, wear everywhere shoes??? Is this must have trend exclusive only to the 416,905 area??? Is is worth the hunt??? Threr have been many ugly shoes that have made there mark. What color will you be wearing???

July 27, 2006   No Comments

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The Devil Wears Patricia Field

Shiver me timbers. Yo ho ho and a bottle of Malibu.
What’s with the pirate motif you ask? I dunno…Just trying to figure out how the entire movie-going world can be bothered going to see a flick based on a Disney ride rather than going to play outside. If you must sit in a darkened theatre – and I, for one, must – head straight to DWP.
Duh – Devil Wears Prada!
Finally saw it last night after a couple of false starts, sold out runs, and Dairy Queen diversions. And let me tell you, it didn’t disappoint. Was it a brilliant work of art? Er, no. Oscar worthy? Ummm, a bit of a stretch. A damn good ride? Hell yeah!
When I saw the trailer last week, I knew I’d like it. How bad could it have been, really? Kinda like the book itself – sorta cheesy, but who the hell cares? It’s entertainment. Truth be told, I cannot for the life of me remember if I read the book. I think I did. But I also read The Nanny Diaries, and some other ex-fuax-se about a celebrity tabloid reporter. And they’re all kinda the same for me:young ingenue meets bitchy employer, tries to be “one of them” but remains true to herself by staying one of us. It was one of those books I wished I had written. Except as weird as my years working for a big shot English-gone-Hollywood movie director was (at times), it was never really that book-worthy. Anecdotes a-plenty. Scandalous behaviour? Only if I spiced it.
But back to the movie. It’s the perfect summer flick. And not just a chick flick either. Boys, don’t be afraid: the cinema was packed with your kind. It was actually kinda weird how many men were there. Straight men. Maybe they came to pick up women. Or maybe they were out to revel in their true metrosexuality. Whatever, they enjoyed it too. Everyone there seemed to enjoy it (yep, we had the over-enthusiastic fans near us. The groaners. The whoopers. The worst.).
DWP was an actor’s – and wardrobe person’s- movie. Less a character-driven ensemble piece, tho’ I s’pose you could call it that. No, it was about the performances. These cats owned their roles (for the most part).
First of all, Ms. Streep. Genius! She’s perfect, perfect. It ain’t breaking news – she’s got the ice queen down pat. Hence all the buzz. So nothing new to report there. But did you know Stanley Tucci’s quite the cool queen himself? Divine! I’ve never been a huge fan of Mr. Tushy, I’ll admit. Maybe because I was obsessed with Murder One way back when. He was Richard, the creepy guy who did it. The murder, that is. Remember? Anyhoo, he’s terrif in DWP.
And props (yep, I said props) to Anne Hathaway. Not too horsey, not too doe-eyed, not too keen. She almost broke Brokeback Mountain for me. Made me want to hurl. So it was with extreme skepticism that I approached the theatre. But not only didn’t she wreck the flick, I thought she was quite good. Believable, beautiful, and – that boatnecked-and-buttoned-up combo with the cap and layered necklaces aside – she owned those outfits! Not that the outfits were anything I’d pine for….But they served their purpose – to make Patricia Field a lot of money and keep that Sex in the City trendoid cheese look in our collective consciousness.
Oops. I almost forgot about Emily Blunt: Fab. And Adrian Grenier: Vince. The other folks were forgettable and/or insignificant so we’ll fast-forward over them. Especially fashion-boy-love-interest-guy from that kids’-lawyer-advocacy show that flopped. But you get the picture. So skip on the Pirates in their has-been boho garb and head straight to Prada – if for no other reason than to see what you’ll be wearing this fall.

1 comments:

Anonymous said…

“ex-faux-se” — brilliant! Get Heather Reisman to put it on a sticker and slap it on to “A Million Little Pieces” and on to that plagiarizing Harvard chick’s book, too. You’ve coined a new one, MOAM. Add it to the lexicon!

July 11, 2006   No Comments

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Jean Genius

VIVA LA REVOLUCIONE!

The jeans revolution, that is. Yeah yeah, I know it’s been going on for aaaaages, but still. It’s quite extraordinary the lengths (lengths!) people (like, ahem, me) will go to find a good pair of jeans.
Ebay? All the way. Sample sales – um, only if you’re a certain (sample) size. Vintage? Uh, OK. But the glut of Levi’s back in the day? Prison. Uh-huh. From the prisoners’ butts to your own. I doubt many inmates are sporting Citizens of Humanity…
Gone are the days of the Levi question – red tab, white tab, button, or zip. (red tab, button fly for me). New or used? A non-issue. It’s always new baby, new. But they need to look used. And no, not in a dirty denim sort of way. I never bought into that whole dirty denim. They just looked too….too…what’s the word I’m looking for? Oh, I know – DIRTY! Blech.
I know jeans were never passe compose, but they weren’t as dress-up-dress-down-wear-’em-to-work as they are now. Were they? I don’t think so. But I’ve been wrong before and (gasp!) I just might be again. I was definitely wrong when I said I would never pay over $100 for jeans. HA HA HA HA HA.
Gap? Whatev. I was a gap girl for years. Modern boot cut? Loved’ ’em. As I said, I never believed in paying for jeans. But then something happened. My sister-in-law convinced me to try on her 7’s, and I never looked back. My husband agreed – goodbye Gap, it was time for the grown up, low slungers that all the cool kids were wearing. I hit the streets a skeptic and came home a changed woman.
I blame it on Adriano Goldschmied. You know, AG? The Angel and The Legend especially. I tried on the Angels and walked out 3 pairs richer (and several hundred dollars poorer). For jeans! JEANS! I didn’t get it then and I still don’t get it now. And yet it makes the $10,000 question (“does my ass look big in these?”) so much easier – and cheaper than 10 grand – to answer…
But here is a legitimate question: what’s with the oh so long legs? I don’t get the ultra low rise – really, I don’t get them. It just wouldn’t be a pretty sight. A bikini wax? For jeans? Why? WHY? But despite any unsightly overhang one (er, not me, one) might experience with low risers, there are always the long shirts to hide it. Double them up and you’re a bean pole. But lady long legs? They’re just a pain. I’m no shrimp, yet every time I get a new pair of jean genies I have to get them shortened. And as any girl worth her – well, worth her jeans – knows, when you buy something, you kinda wanna wear it ASAP. No? Yes! Especially jeans. You buy new ones and suddenly the oldies aren’t such goodies. But you have to hold off and shorten ’em. Original hem to boot (boot!)
I take solace in the fact that, for the most part, the denim thief, I mean merchant, willl shorten ’em free of charge. As they should – at these prices… People, look around at all the lovelies shakin’ their thangs in their jeans. Take a good look. Because y’all should know that tapered, high wasted jeans are on the (ahem) rise. God help us all….
But for now, enjoy your jeans. After all you’ve spent on them, you have tooo. Even if it’s hot – no, sweltering. And even if you’re not really going anyplace. As the saleschicky said, “Dress up, dress down”. And get ’em straight (straight!): Chip & Pepper? Not a band. Paper Denim? Not stationary. James Jeans? Not an actor. My latest find are Paige jeans. AWESOME. And no, they aren’t over $200 like some other “new and improved” jeans you can find. Who buys those? Don’t answer – I’m sure I’ll be slinking aorund in ’em soon enough.

1 comments:

Anonymous said…

Alternate titles to your latest posting:
“I Dream of Jean-ie”,
“Beyond the Rainbow” (points if you get the reference), and my fave
“Jean Smart”
(who by the way, ROCKED on “24”. Hello, Emmy–are you listening?)

June 16, 2006   No Comments

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Women be Shoppin’, Women be Shoppin’, Women be Shoppin’

Live from New York, it’s Mother of all Mavens!
Except I’m not really live from New York at all. I’m live, post-New York and I gotta say, I heart New York. F&ck the spas….Looking to rejuvenate? Then pack your bags – and check ’em, why not?! – and head to the Big Apple. That’s what I did – sans babes or my man. No offence boys, but it was A-W-E-S-O-M-E. The sights, the sounds, the smells….THE SHOPPING.
Bear in mind I haven’t been alone in 3 years. And I haven’t been on a successful shopping spree in longer. ‘member? Pregnant, post-pregnant, almost-there. Pregnant, post-pregnant, etc. Not a great look, no matter how you slice it. Back in the almost-there phase, alone, with a pal, in NYC, how could I resist?
Answer: I couldn’t.
So after lounging (alone!) and coffee (alone! in bed!) I hit the streets, Visas blazin’.
Ladies, and those who love ’em, take note: Olive and Bette’s. That’s all you need to know. I was sent there by a fashionista friend and boy-yoy-yoing was she on the beam with this one. Unreal. All pink and girly on the outside, hip and not too-too-trendy on the inside. Talk about girls gone wild. This place was the bomb.
I walked in wearing one outfit, walked out in another. And then shopped at a different Olive & Bette’s in yet another O & B combo. Talk about wearing the concert-T to the concert!! But I did, proudly. It was one of those places where you try to hold off but just can’t. I think that could be the number one rule when it comes to shopping (and dating, kind of): if you love it, buy it. Sounds obvo, I know. But bird in hand, folks, bird in hand.
And guess what? There are four of these lovely boutiques across the city – something for everyone, everywhere! I only hit two: West Village and Soho. And here’s the scoop (aside from being better than Scoop, another clothing emporium par excellence): Bleeker was better.
I met a lovely lady named Amy who quickly became my new best friend. She had me trying – and buying – everything. And she got me, really got me! Knew her butt-skimmin’ skirts from her cling-ons. The look-like-you’ve-had-your-boobs-done tops from the where’d-they-go’s. We played dress-up girlfriends for about an hour before I was utterly spent – literally.
Or not. Because I couldn’t resist checking out the Soho shop (concert-T to the concert, remember?). Now these chicitas saw me comin’ a mile away. How could they not when I was dressed to the nines in my new duds from their sister shop? They circled my pal and I, hurling so many compliments it made us want to, well, hurl. Sure, they introduced my ass to a lovely new pair of jeans (Paige, since you asked) but after entering the changeroom with piles of stuff and emerging with only the jeans and a cardy, all these new best friends dropped us. But fast. We could barely find someone to take our money. That ain’t right!
Soho staff aside, it’s a mighty fine find. So remember, when next you find yourself in New York: ditch your men, hit the streets, and run, don’t walk to Olive & Bette’s.
And then cut your Visa cards into millions of itty bitty pieces because this place’ll break the bank. But at least you’ll look good. Damn good.

4 comments:

Anonymous said…

okay that was the shopping– but the FOOD– hello? Where’s the food? No trip to NYC is complete without a sampling from the delights to be found (insert turista exclamation) “only in New York!” And I know you MOAM– you sampled some tasty vittles. Fess up!

5:25 PM

Anonymous said…

Your “fashionista friend” thanks you for the shout out and assumes you found your way back to Sullivan St. — O&B bags unharmed.

I miss you already!

12:06 PM

Anonymous said…

Concert t to the concert! You are a maven!

4:33 PM

Anonymous said…

you feel very very alive and in somewhat of control ….or not

June 13, 2006   No Comments

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Stuff It

We are li-ving in a material world. And-I-AM-a-material girl.
But sometimes, you need to pare down. To ditch. To rid, perchance to clean. Yup, I’m talking ye olde cupboard clean out. Let’s face it, the more space we have to fill, the more, well, we fill it.
I grew up with a basement of crap: cases of pop and bad-for-you canned goods. Old clothes, older toys, and even older appliances – all in working order. We’d go through our closets and get rid of anything that didn’t fit. Scan the shelves for things we didn’t use. And then it would all disappear. Into the basement.

When I moved into my own place, I was a ditching devil. A real pro. I’d go through my old clothes. Anything that I no longer wore (or fit into) I’d give away. Usually to my friends. And then they’d wear my old stuff and I’d feel the pangs. The pangs of regret. The pangs of envy – they didn’t look like that on me!! And I’d promptly go out and buy something remarkably similar to the previously ditched item.

Sometimes, I’d go one further – do the old extend-o-lend: let my friends borrow the item and then wait and see if I really did want it back. This can also be applied to furniture, by the way. I’d test-drive the empty space. See what, if anything, I was missing. Invariably I’d forget about whatever it was. Or, on the very rare occasion, call it in and take it back. Extend-o-lend would end.

Moving also helps. With each move, I’d fill bag after bag of no longer needed stuff. What was one person’s crap was another person’s treasure. Or whatever. Either way, I thought I was paring down quite nicely. I was embracing the whole simple living thing. Or at least pretending to. Really I was just getting rid of the fat pants/skinny pants – insert whichever fits.

I think there are keepers and tossers. No, Brit friends, not that kind of tosser. Those who keep, holding on and holding out for a rainy day or some other emergency. And those who dump. Ditch. Toss. There are also the worst of the worst – the toss ‘n keep. Witness the childhood basement full of stuff. Well guess what? I know have my own basement.

I’ve tried to ditch, really I have. Just last week I went through my cupboards and made piles of clothes to give away. And there they sat, waiting. They’ve been picked through slightly, but they’re still there. I even went back and rescued some things. Black pant kind of things…What? They don’t make ‘em like they used to.

Being a woman means never staying the same size. Us or the clothes. And being a mother means old clothes, when-I-was-thin clothes, maternity clothes, post-pregnancy fat clothes, post-pregnancy almost-there clothes, new clothes, etc. The list is endless. And that’s just clothing!

Actually, that’s just my clothing. Don’t think I don’t relish going through my kids cupboards and ditch-ditch-ditching. I daren’t touch my husband’s stuff. He keeps EVERYTHING. He even kept the stand from a defunct fan. Just in case we needed it. But he’s getting better now. The basement is his domain. One room in particular. And it’s filling up fast: cases of pop and bad-for-you canned goods. Old clothes, older toys, and even older appliances – all in working order. Wait, does this sound familiar?

Anyway, I see a garage sale in our future. Everything must go. I’ve already started giving away books. Looking for a good read? Take one. Take three. I’ve got shelves lining my living room three books deep. And counting. Come one, come all. Yet there’s still the little part of me that misses ‘em when they’re gone. So now I’m back to lending only. Just in case….

May 23, 2006   No Comments

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