If you’ve spend any time thinking about gender and pronouns, go and read what I wrote here, and get back to me with your thoughts, arguments, and insults! xo
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Let’s Say You’re Missing a Leg
You can imagine my delight at finding these wonderful trousers at the super edgy, superbly curated fashion site Ssense.com.
Mid-rise. Four-pocket styling. Single cropped leg. Zip-fly. Partially lined. Tonal hardware.
“Single cropped leg.” Roger that. No explanation necessary! Here’s another view:
So good. All eyes will be on you, hopefully. It’s a casual look, and quite breezy on the one leg, but you can upgrade for a more formal look by getting the nicely proportioned matching jacket.
For some reason, I think the trousers would be better for a one-legged person, don’t you? Instead of leaving that poor exposed leg to just hang there so vulnerably, a one-legged person would look great, without having to to take it to a tailor. I feel the same way about the popular one-armed look in dresses and tops. I just don’t feel good about the bared limb.
Let’s say you’re Dan Cooper, a guy who is currently featured on a reality show in the UK, living in a house with 4 other “extraordinary” people. Evidently, viewers don’t have much sympathy for Dan, who had his leg chopped off in order to feel “whole.”
Dan has BIID, and suffered for many years with the affliction of having one too many legs. Interestingly, this appears to be an extremely British disorder. There’s a great documentary somewhere that spends time with a few of these guys and they are all British. A Scottish surgeon got in trouble for amputating healthy legs, even though he was just trying to prevent his patients from seeking a potentially life-threatening back alley solution to their being bipeds.
Be that as it may! Dan is now a TV personality and people will just have to learn to accept him. Thank god that fucking leg isn’t tormenting him any more. But how good would he look in those mid-rise, partially lined pants at Ssense?
I’m just saying.
Posted in Disorders, Fashion, Horrible Stuff
Tagged awful clothes, body image, mental illness, reality TV
10 Comments
Old Bag Fashionistas: Stop it!
Last night, I was watching Billions with my husband, and was moved to exclaim, “I had no idea I was capable of so much hate!” He laughed, because he has never doubted my capacity. It’s like I’m listening to the character called “Wags” and expending all my hatred on him when suddenly there is that guy who plays whatshisname’s father, and my well of hatred instantly fills up again, ready for action.
It is easily the worst show on cable TV, and we watch it in order to squirm with perverse pleasure at the horrible pseudo-hip dialogue and rabid overacting. But Billions is not my subject right now. Instead, I’d like to address the growing problem (ie., my hatred) of Old Lady Fashion Influencers.
The most formidable of these appears to be Accidental Icon, who insists that she is “freaking cool”despite all evidence to the contrary. I’ll bet she is hopping mad about the newbie imitators wearing big black sunglasses and aggressive white bobs. A friend alerted me to Grece Ghanem, who has “worked her way up from influencer to style icon,” according to Who What Wear. She is 54 but looks ten years older. Revealing her style plan for 2019, she says this:
Goodbye to miniskirts and flat ballerinas. You will also see me sport [fewer] ruffles and all-sheer looks. I am highlighting a more modern silhouette in 2019. I am ready to hang my oversize, padded jackets with the strong shoulders and adopt a softer figure for the New Year.
Jesus Christ, I should hope it’s goodbye to miniskirts!
Checking her out on Instagram, I was rewarded by a montage of annoying fashion looks dominated by Gucci, Celine, and the usual suspects. Grece is a personal trainer so she likes to show off her arms. She also likes to wear those huge white sneakers, which makes me feel sad for her. But then, I saw her wearing a leather biker jacket and my whole world fell apart. I will never be able to feel good wearing a leather biker jacket, thanks to this old bag.
I complained about this to my sister, who said, “If you stop wearing leather jackets, you are giving her too much power. DON’T LET HER WIN!” My sister has become a wise village elder in my life, and not a moment too soon! I will wear my jackets, because I am a proud anti-terrorist, but it won’t be without a frisson of shame.
At least Grece doesn’t seem too self-important like the Accidental Icon, who complains about being marginalized as a senior blogger. Boo-hoo! That’s what you get for letting your hair go white! She is one obnoxious old lady. The last time I looked at her, she seemed obsessed with Rick Owens. But now she’s in a scary ad for Go Daddy!
Oh my god, why is this happening??
Can’t we just be old ladies for fucksake!
Do you think I should start marketing myself as Deliberate Icon? Or maybe Fuck You, I’m Almost Dead?
My style is so nothing, and yet it is so distinctively Me! Jeans and t shirts and sweaters, with enormous size 10 shoes. I ignore fashion rules, except for the ones about not looking stupid, and Mutton Dressed as Lamb. I like to feel comfortable. I like stuff to fit normally. I am not freaking cool, but I’m Hot AF. How do I capitalize on this??
Want to see more old bags? Here.
Posted in Celebrities, Fashion, Rants
Tagged awful clothes, fashion bloggers, influencers, old bags
23 Comments
Why Are They Torturing Me? Part 2
When I think about the internet and how it has distorted the reality of day to day life, first I think about social media. Nothing matters unless it can be documented, or liked. Every few hours, a gigantic wave of rage erupts on Twitter, all aimed at someone who crossed an invisible line with a thoughtless comment, or maybe an R. Kelly type figure who serves as a scapegoat for all the seething self-hatred that can never be examined or depleted, since it regenerates with every moment of inaction toward Facebook for selling your personal data and reminding you what you posted last year.
Next I think of all the time it has robbed from me, time I could spend doing anything offline, like clean the house or engage with a person face to face, not to mention generate my own thoughts. In the last two days, I have learned about Swedish preschools, rehab statistics, Japanese phonemes, Tucker Carlson’s misogyny, maternal infection and autism, restaurants that accommodate fat people, and the challenges faced by Uniqlo. This is just a small fraction of what I’ve consumed while sitting anxiously at my computer, wondering how I can find out everything about everything before it’s too late.
Do you do this? Maybe you don’t have the time, or if you do, you use it more constructively. Me, I don’t know how to discern what’s useful or important from garbage. I’m trying to resist the temptation to click on the worst crime stories, with some encouraging results. I did read about the little girl stuffed in a suitcase, and I read the comments on the mother’s fb page, calling her a piece of shit, etc. I already know not to click on the secrets of productive people or the truth about diets. That’s just instinctive knowledge. I’m not an idiot, after all. I’m just a person who has forgotten how to be present in my own life.
With all my desperate hunting and pecking online, I would have missed something noteworthy if it hadn’t been forwarded to me: the harrowing writing of Patricia Lockwood, who describes her own descent into internet lunacy, and it is terrifying. I don’t want to end up too immersed in online culture to find my way out. I’m not sure if there’s an antidote to the damage it’s done to my attention span and short-term memory.
Maybe blogging isn’t really writing or communicating. I’m not sure. I need to think it over.
Thoughts, anyone?
Why Are They Torturing Me? Part 1
Sometimes I go looking for trouble but other times it assaults me when I’m doing what I call Minding My Own Business. These fucking boots are in the second category.
I was scrolling through the new arrivals at farfetch.com when they came at me. What the fuck is wrong with this designer, Natasha Zinko? Everything she makes is a monstrosity, just pure visual hell. If you do a search of the brand at farfetch, you will want to kill her.
Anyway, the stupid sleeve-flaps hanging from this boot…let the website explain.
Much like the designer herself, Natasha Zinko is fun, vibrant and brimming with energy. Her personality undoubtedly shows through each clothing piece. These blue 100 denim-wrapped leather ankle boots from Natasha Zinko feature a pull-on style, a pointed toe, side flap pockets, a cut-out heel, a 100mm high stiletto heel and a leather sole.
The price, $1,313 is also an affront. Why the double 13? Round up or down, motherfuckers.
But then, not content to wallow in the nightmare of the boots, I went looking for one of my favorite tools of self-harm, the ex-wife’s monthly column in her neighborhood paper. This month, she is expounding on the weather.
Try reading it aloud, if you’re alone. Or to your partner, if he wasn’t ever married to her.
How can this be real, the real thoughts and words of a human brain? Each time, I am amazed. Or as she might put it, amazed anew.
God. On the other hand, I’d be sad without the torments of the internet. Wouldn’t you? Or not?
International Women’s Day: Canceled
I’ve been thinking how stupid it is to have an International Women’s Day, but I didn’t know how to approach my feelings without seeming reflexively contrarian. Women are great, but no greater than non-women.
International women are great but so are local women. Women have supported me but woman have also been mean to me, and I mean mean. Woman make up half of the world’s population, so a single day of recognition seems absurd. All the jargon of fourth-wave feminism is repellent to me. I want equal pay for equal work and equal treatment under the law, but that’s where my interest ends. I know, I know.
I once believed that women wanted three things: Oral sex, ice cream, and a nice handbag. Now I feel I was way too hasty. We don’t want the handbag anymore. It’s no longer a big deal, right ladies? So I don’t know what that third thing is. Maybe my readers can suggest something.
I do know what women don’t want. We don’t want to be raped or assaulted. We don’t want mansplaining, pantyhose, clitorectomy, burkas, menstruation-shaming, honor killings, forced marriage, cellulite, and we don’t want men to push on our heads when we’re servicing them, alright? We want to breathe!
Luckily, I’ve just discovered the word “canceled” even though I’m late to the concept. Canceled refers to total disinvestment in something (or someone). It can come swiftly with one stupid tweet, or any instance of pissing people off. Jussie Smolett has been canceled, obviously, and so has Kanye. But not all cancellations are the result of a transgression; you can be canceled for no reason. We must all live in fear of being canceled, especially if we’re heavy users of social media.
“It’s a cultural boycott,” said Lisa Nakamura, a professor at the University of Michigan who studies the intersection of digital media and race, gender and sexuality. “It’s an agreement not to amplify, signal boost, give money to. People talk about the attention economy — when you deprive someone of your attention, you’re depriving them of a livelihood.”
If you announce that someone is canceled, they’re canceled. But the cancellation may not be universal. Or people can forget you’ve been cancelled, as in the case of Kanye or Taylor Swift. Under certain circumstances, the canceled may be uncanceled.
I’m canceling myself before someone else does it. But first I’m canceling International Women’s Day. Because once you’ve been canceled, you probably lose the power to cancel.
Wait! Now that I’m canceled, and stripped of relevance, can I conscript people into canceling shit for me? Will someone cancel Ivanka Trump? And Tucker Carlson? Also, Halsey? Let me know!
The best example of cancel culture is a Kosoko Jackson, a writer whose young-adult novel was pulled before publication due to a frenzied twitter backlash. Jackson, who is not only black and gay but also a “sensitivity reader for a major publishing house,” had the temerity to include an Albanian Muslim character in his novel and MAKE HIM A VILLAIN!!! Ha. Bastard. I hope he’s learned his lesson.
I, Monster
A few days ago, I was at the mall, drinking coffee and talking to a young woman I will call Mary. Mary had started the conversation, which I was enjoying, because who else wants to talk to me? She was 22, but looked much younger. She told me that she tries to look after her 12 year old sister, who is getting interested in boys and fashion.
I’m always interested in young people who have grown up with social media. I wonder how it affects their lives, or if they even think of the internet as something separate from their lives. So I asked her if she spent a lot of time scrolling through shit on her phone, like I do. She seemed at once casually grown up and sweetly naive.
I started going on about how sad I was for young people, who would never know innocence, who would see hundreds or thousands of naked bodies and sex acts before they ever had a relationship. I deplored the lack of mystery that is now a fact of life for young people. I asked her if this worried her, and she said, Not really.
Then, because it’s one of my favorite stories, I told her about the time my kid brought a new friend home for a play-date, and they disappeared into his room. They were probably around 13 at the time, and my kid was already a prodigious coder. After around three hours, the friend’s mom called to see how things were going. She then advised me to supervise the kids’ computer use, because her son had recently been caught looking at bestiality.
The punchline of the story is me going, “WHAT??? YOU’RE TELLING ME NOW, AFTER THREE HOURS?”
So I finished my story, expecting Mary to laugh. Instead, she looked confused, and said. “What’s bestiality?”
Shit, I thought, oh no! I didn’t think I could just say, Never mind, now that I’d said the word. So, very sadly, I explained, “It’s when people have sex with animals.” Her eyes bugged out and her hands flew up to her face. “But how would they do that?”
Suddenly, my husband appeared, as we had planned to meet outside the coffee bar. Overcome with guilt and relief, I blurted out, “Hi honey, this is Mary. I’ve just destroyed her innocence!” Mary laughed but I still felt mortified.
As my husband and I walked to the car, he joked about me picking up kids at the mall. I told him that in fact, she had picked me up. Then I remembered reading that the men who get caught having sex with horses always blame it on the horse. “The horse came on to me, it wasn’t my idea!”
Just kill me.
Academy Awards 2019 Exegesis
This year, I’m asking you to go here to read the all-important Academy Awards Exegesis™, and then come back to leave comments, if you have any. I know it’s a couple of extra clicks and I apologize. I’ll try to make it up to you.
But before you go, let’s just reflect on the Lady Gaga/Bradley Cooper imbroglio if we may. If you’re anything like me, and you are, you were moaning in agony throughout their performance. And I do mean performance. Personally, I kept muttering “Barf,” a word I haven’t used since middle school. But what else is there to say when confronted with such egregious grandiosity, not to mention over-the-top bad acting? Jesus Christ, why???
Now the internet is all ARE THEY REALLY IN LOVE??? and IS HE BREAKING UP WITH WHATSHERNAME?
If only he wasn’t gay.
Okay for now. Thoughts? Things I left out?
A Return to Sanity
I’ve been unable to write due to problems with concentration and a profound apathy coupled with a deep sense of hopelessness. The usual, only more debilitating.
My mental hygiene is not what it should be. I like to watch the news on MSNBC for hours on end, without moving except to scroll through Instagram, clicking like a lab rat, heart heart heart. Last night I stayed up watching TV til 5:am, just to hear more outrage about our beloved leader.
But now the sight of these jeans has cleared the cobwebs away, so to speak. I once knew a woman who said she needed to “get laid” every so often just to clear the cobwebs away. Isn’t that awful? No wonder I can’t remember her name. But I remember when she said it. It was an instant deal-breaker.
Anyway, behold. These “Tulle-trim crystal-embellished straight-leg jeans” by Germanier are $764 but already sold out in my size. Shit. Here is the rear view.
Sustainable label Germanier repurposes glittering silver and black crystals which would have otherwise gone to waste to create these playful blue high-rise jeans. Cut to a slim, straight silhouette, they’re trimmed with black tulle which drapes elegantly down the side. Style them with a white T-shirt for an ultra-contemporary look.
Wait, huh? Aren’t they still going to waste??? And what do they mean by “elegant”? Well, who cares, truth is beauty and beauty is truth.
If you REALLY have balls, denimwise, you would forget the jeans with tulle and go straight to this:
Junya Watanabe knows how to bring the crazy. Just feast your eyes! When you walk into a room wearing this, you’ll know where that extra money went.
Short sleeve layered long dress in faded indigo denim and white cotton jersey. Asymmetric construction featuring tulle trim, lace detailing, pleats, and raw edge at hem. Rib knit crewneck collar. Half-zip closure at front. Zippered vent at side-seam. Silver-tone hardware. Tonal and contrast stitching in tan.
Part nurse, part fairy princess, part mental patient, you will be the center of attention at any event, for $2,415…but not if you’re a size large because that is sold out. Good, because a Large woman would be especially resplendent in this dress, don’t you think?
Okay then. You’re welcome! I’ll be back with some other shit before you know it.
Posted in Fashion
Tagged denim, expensive crap, hideous crap, why can't I just kill everyone?
17 Comments
Golden Globes 2019 Exegesis
I know I’m late but the Exegesis must go on, so here we go. As usual, the show was a boring waste of time but let me say that the ONLY thing I wanted was for Lady Gaga not to win. Sometimes a negative wish is enough to encourage a sense of involvement, right? And I stand before you a happy camper.
Why the animosity toward Lady Gaga? I just can’t stand her. But I think I have crystallized my revulsion for her with this insight: She is too needy. Her neediness makes me anxious, and it reminds me (subconsciously) of my own neediness, which I can’t face. Okay?
Anyway, her loss was my gain. Likewise, I enjoyed (i.e., hated) the sight of Bradley Cooper as Colonel Sanders, with his girlfriend du jour, a Russian prostitute/model. I liked Nicole Kidman‘s fillers, while I disliked whatever Charlize has done with her face.
Taylor Swift‘s surprise appearance was like the Wicked Witch in Show White. When Idris “Please have sex with me!” Elba told Taylor that she was looking good, she replied “Thank you.” WHAT ABOUT “YOU TOO,” TAYLOR? ARE YOU FUCKING BLIND? Maybe she just has no manners.
Olivia Coleman was by far the most charming winner, just as she is the best actress alive. She can do no wrong. Go and watch all her movies and British dramas if you don’t believe me. Alfonso Cuarón was another deserving winner who exhibited unusual modesty in a sea of gushy idiots still telling Liam and Isabella to go to sleep.
Catherine Zeta-Jones was the winner of my Most Well-Preserved award, with Jamie Leigh Curtis taking the coveted Most Badly Aging prize. Patricia Arquette was amazing in her role of a lowlife prison guard in Escape at Dannemora, but her boobs were truly disturbing as they tried to explode in her face.
Regina King looked gorgeous and gave a delightfully joyous acceptance speech. Mahershala Ali looked inexplicably sad. Don’t be sad, Mahershala, we love you!
Why did the Versace series keep winning when it was such a trashy piece of shit? Anyone?
Most incandescently beautiful was Saoirse Ronan in a Gucci dress that revealed her perfect satiny skin. I will be her in my next life.
That cute guy whatsisname who everyone loves. Chalmet or something? He took the prize for most daringly queer beaded halter over a black on black outfit. But Billy Porter was by far the most glamorous man on the red carpet or anywhere else.
God, just kill me. It’s too boring to relive. The show ended on a high note, with Gaga getting snubbed beyond my wildest dreams. Yay! Let me know what I left out. xoxo