Yesterday, I made the stupid decision to google “Sister Wolf.”

It’s weird to see yourself as others see you. I’m used to interacting with strangers on my own territory but finding yourself being discussed elsewhere is the equivalent of hearing what people say behind your back. And naturally, they want to talk shit about you.

I was so pleased to find several people who loved my blog! But the pleasure gave way to annoyance when I came across a website devoted to criticizing bloggers. There was even a forum for the critics to chat among themselves, but I didn’t read it. It was enough to find some people dismissing me as crazy, with one commenter even noting disgustedly that I should be getting grief therapy instead of blogging.

It has never even  occurred  to me that people might disapprove of my grief.  And I never think of myself as crazy, or even weird. I think the critics were upset that I outed a troll, and that’s something I’ve thought about a lot. Upon reflection, I’d do it again, because that’s the only way to effect a consequence for cowards who want to hide behind anonymity.

Well, you can’t please everyone, right?   It’s better to not google yourself. It’s the one instance where ignorance actually is bliss.

But then, I was buying my kid a wallet at Ross Dress for Less, when a sales assistant asked me if I was aware of their Every Tuesday Discount for seniors. Sure enough, my reflexes are so slow that I didn’t slap her in the face for suggesting that I am a senior. She went on to explain that it’s for people “55 and older.”

I glared at her and said something like, Okay, I’ll take the discount but you’re not supposed to think I’m 55 or older. She smiled back, sweetly and blankly. What a fucking cunt! 

God, it’s so awful how you can’t control people. I’ll never get used to it. But I can write to Ross Dress for Less and complain about this assault on my self-esteem. It might be fun to try to get them to apologize. I could even call it grief therapy!

Good idea or not?

The Man Repeller is not just repelling men. Consider me repelled. I don’t think I “get” her, but I don’t think I’d like her if I did.

Why is she everywhere?? Why is she so connected, because there is no other way this girl would be in Harper’s Bazaar, and the subject of nearly every fashion or blog related article on the internet.

Am I resentful? DUH, fuck yes! Why isn’t the world adoring me instead?!?

I’ve been mocking ugly clothes for years now. I’m funny and I have a way with words, ahem.   But I don’t have a schtick! Damn me, this must be the problem. Unless it’s because I’m a cunt, rather than just “snarky.”

I don’t understand how a rich girl who talks about getting cabs in Paris and buys high-end designer stuff can position herself as a critic of fashion victims. I don’t understand why anyone wants to hear the word “ladyboner” or why people begin sentences with the words “I mean.” You can’t begin a sentence with “I mean” unless someone has posed the question, “What do you mean?”

I just read an excruciating interview with the Man Repeller in which she observes that red lipstick is not appealing to men but she finds it sexy. Haha, you silly goose, you clearly know nothing about men or red lipstick! I need you to either go away or give me your parents’ money so I can fix my roof and my two broken teeth.

A leaking roof and broken teeth: That’s what man repelling is all about.

I’ve had an epiphany and here it is: I don’t want to know about anyone’s personal style!

After reading about Andrea Linett, a nice woman who looks like Sarah Jessica Parker, at stylelikeu.com, I find the whole Look-at-My-Wardrobe craze to be WAY too much information. It’s all so embarrassing.

People seem to be hopelessly enamored of their own specialness. I hate the word “enamored” but I’m using it to get in the mood. I think the awful prose of the stylikeu wordsmith is rubbing off on me!

Try this: “Among the voluminous amount of people that inspire Andrea is …”

Are you happy with the usage of “voluminous?” Me neither! It just gets worse until you want to stab yourself or puncture your eardrums.

Here’s what Andrea says of her boots:

First of all, I see that I foolishly omitted a blogger rocking the black-hat-with-shorts uniform. This one is called Stylorectic and she just had a baby. She seems to really, really love herself and that makes me uncomfortable. I think this may be the   key trigger of my disdain for certain style bloggers. No one should be so in love with their own self. Einstein didn’t love himself that much!

Then there is the-coveted imbroglio.   Here is a blogger who is an institution, whether you follow her or not. And some cunts come along and start a website with the same name.   Then, they send her a threatening letter, demanding that she not disparage them. Ha!   Let us all support freedom of expression.   Join Team Jennine.

Finally, there is the matter of a strange German man who has sent me an extremely nasty and ominous letter about posting one of “his” images, and then warning me that he’s going to give me a lesson in “RESPECT.”

I will not march to the ovens, Mister Respect! Leave me alone! No one can teach me anything, that has been proven over and over again.

I wish the world would stop trying to make me mad. Even temporarily.

I hope David Carlo Photography doesn’t mind me borrowing his picture here. It helps to illustrate why I don’t “get” the Man Repeller and why I feel more and more like a stranger in a strange land.

The best way to counter these feelings of existential malaise is a sedative and a long thoughtful look at Godfrey Gao.

He is set to be the first Asian male supermodel. He is 6’4″ and loves to cook.   Let’s all forget our troubles for a moment and just be present, ahem. I know Godfrey would want that.

“Comments for Jane” was a popular feature that many of us enjoyed, although others felt it was a symptom of an unwholesome obsession. God knows, it inflamed many of Jane’s fanclub in Dallas and around the world.

I’ve retired that feature, in part because I like Jane’s mother, Mom of Shoes. She’s a divorced mother of two teenagers, and in that I feel a kinship, even though our lives are so different.   She’s doing her best, just like I am.

However, seeing Jane’s new post about these YSL shoes she acquired in Las Vegas, I felt the old call to duty. Sea didn’t purchase or buy the shoes: it was more magical than that.   She fell in love with them and “as soon as they were mine, I blah blah blah.” Not only that, she’s waiting for another pair in a different color to be shipped to her home. Again, there was no crass “purchasing” or “buying” involved.

Coincidentally, today a reader sent me a link to a pair of colorful overpriced shoes at net-a-porter, and naturally I thought of Sea. I really want her to buy them.

So I am launching this new feature, called “Please Jane, Buy These Shoes!   ”

Jane, these shoes are only $1,125 and you know you want them. Come on, they’re cute and you like a pop of color, right? Please buy them!

*Citizens, if you see a pair of shoes that seem worthy of this feature, just me send a link! xo

Carrie Blaydes left her design job at Helmut Lang in New York for an uncertain future down South, with her husband.

She has just opened her eBay store, Factory Handbook Vintage. She told me she was going to donate the proceeds of a beautiful cape to the Sister Wolf Roof Fund, so I rushed over to eBay to have a look.

Not only do I want that cape myself, but everything she has is unfairly appealing and styled to perfection. Carrie is the perfect model for her vintage collection, with an old world beauty and casual elegance that can’t be faked.

Make Factory Handbook Vintage your first stop when you’re in the market for something cool.   And go see her blog to show some love!

One thing I’ve learned since joining Twitter is that feminism isn’t dead. It’s alive and really irritable.

A post at frockwriter about American Apparel seemed perfectly reasonable to me, but caused quite a commotion among super-sensitive feminist tweeters. Frockwriter author Patty Huntington decried American Apparel‘s use of mannequins posed bent over, or spreadeagled in slutty positions.   But the word “slutty” caused offense.

I watched Ms. Huntington patiently reply to the outraged tweets. Someone demanded that she retract the word slutty, arguing that it’s part of a larger offensive social dynamic called “slut-shaming.”

The angry word-prohibitionist got her friends involved. I discovered that many of the angered women were self-described fat women, and presumably they are more sensitized to name-calling.

But the preachy comments triggered by Huntington’s post were so annoying that I jumped in and called one of the prohibitionists “an ignorant slut.” GET IT?!? I thought it was funny, and figured everyone knew the reference to be a catchphrase from Saturday Night Live.

Well, all the irritable feminists went nuts. They got together to slam Huntington, over at a boring blog by Dr. Samantha Thomas, who refused to publish my very calm comment in defense of Patty Huntington. Read the comments though if you enjoy womyn congratulating each other for being mad.

Today, feminist’s launched a twitter attack on Michael Moore after a comment he made about rape victims was repeated out of context. Michael Moore is a tireless liberal activist who deserves better. I will let him speak for himself.

Finally, a miniwar broke out over a pillow needlepointed with the words of Kate Moss: Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels. Feminist tweeters flipped out. Those pillows were “pro-ana!”

Here’s what I think.   The December issue of Bazaar has an article about a woman getting a facial for her vulva. She goes into great detail but I couldn’t take it. It’s so stupid and depressing. It’s bullshit. It’s anti-pussy and it’s anti-woman.   It’s a million times worse than the word slut or a fucking pillow.

Thoughts?

Here is a photo posted on a popular style blog today. The others in the series were NSFW. The handful of comments were enthusiastic.

A light finally went on in my head.

It’s the fucking decadence that I hate! Not really hipsters in general so much as the ones promoting decadence.

Nipple rings,   blurred sexuality, tattooes, shaved heads, pseudo bondage, jaded topless girls with cigarettes, Gareth Pugh this and Gareth Pugh that, it’s all so tragic and played out.   There’s just nowhere to go with this shit.

I’m aware that young people must shock their elders. But it seems like too many people aren’t growing out of it. I don’t want to call out bloggers because it’s not their fault. They’re just deluded. The images they’re purveying have been around in some form for centuries, but now it’s so joyless and commercialized. Just take it away.

I’ve been scrolling through paintings of angels and religious allegories for hours, trying to elevate my soul through beauty and sincerity but it’s hard to find a strong enough antidote to the sadness of everything tonight.

Just to keep hipsters in the loop, though, please enjoy this:

I continue writing this blog because it seems like something normal and productive to cling to, but I’m not sure if it’s doing me any good.   When I’m not at my computer, I am mostly catatonic or crying. I reject all talk of “getting over it.” I don’t want to hear that he “is with me.” He is not with me. That is the problem.   He is   gone. And I miss him so much.

My husband and my teenager need me to stick around. It would be too brutal for me to act on my yearning to go find Max. I guess I’m not at the level of desperation where you stop caring about the hearts you will break.

Meanwhile, life goes on around me at home, and our roof is leaking badly enough to cause the ceiling to crumble in the kitchen. It falls in chunks and finer particles that cover the countertops. The roof is around 30 years old now.

My Cyber-sisters Kate and Queens Marie and Michelle have teamed up with everyone’s favorite jewelry designer and raconteur Wendy Brandes to raise funds for a new roof. I am so humbled by their kindness that I feel I must get in the spirit of things by showing off the adorable logo that Michelle designed:

The picture links directly to Wendy’s order form.

A roof is a symbol of shelter and stability. It would be a positive undertaking for my family and maybe even for me.

I love that our little community can be a force for good. We are all elevated by acts of compassion! Thank you sweetie pies for wanting to help.

*If you know anyone who would like to own one of these silver woolf necklaces, pass it on.