and that’s British slang for “that is, like, major suckitude!”
Here I was, all ready to present to you a multi-faceted, multi-pictured, multi-product post that would, if not gain widespread acclaim would at least cause a few snarky comments and YAY! Pageview bonus! and WordPress went and ate it.
In its place, we bring you the following observation: that shopping online for pants is … pants. Because all pants look exactly alike online:
Exhibit A: $698 Zenobia Slim Crepe Pants from Saks:
Exhibit B: $178 Eileen Fisher Stretch Crepe Pants, also from Saks:
Well, okay, these look different, but we don’t have to discuss them, do we?
Did someone ask for more Grand National photos?
First of all I think we need to applaud this girl. Yes, it’s a bad dress without the benefit of being interesting BUT look at her bust.
That is one masterfully wrangled rack.
As opposed to this:
MUCH better dress, totally ruined by the lack of a bra. Here’s the deal: I am not overly endowed in the chest department –I’m a respectable but not over-enthusiastic C– and what I do have doesn’t move much courtesy of Plumcake family genetics. While standing up I don’t even pass the pencil test, so I totally understand the temptation to go sans boulderholder.
BUT I DON’T because I know nothing can ruin an outfit as fast as the wrong undergarments. Also, unless otherwise directed, hats should be worn down low over the eyebrow.
Okay, time for a little trip to truthville: if you do this, you look like trash. I know that’s an ugly thing to say and normally I’d try to beat around the bust (I meant to say bush, but it’s a funny slip so I’ll keep it) and be a little more subtle but seriously, nothing riles me more than big girls in ridiculous platter-o-boob corsets (this dovetails nicely with one of the many reasons I hate Renaissance festivals too, which in my experience might as well be called Uglye Girls Gettynge Their Tits Out Faire). I mean couldn’t you just wear a t-shirt saying “Please value me for the one part of my body that’s socially acceptable?” it’d certainly be more comfortable, and not any less blatant.
Not that it’s any better on slimmer girls, although with this one at least they’re well-contained. Also, I don’t know who this woman is but I know where to find her. I DO like her hat though.
Pasty women of England: I have been from El Paso to Texarkana and places that aren’t even IN Texas and I can tell you after this exhaustive research: Orange is not a person color, and while I love hot pink and orange together IN THEORY, I’m not sure it really works when the orange in question is your skin. On the other hand (see what I did there), I LOVE that awful butterfly ring, and would wear it in a heartbeat.
This? Not so much:
A maribou shrug? Really? It’s like what the secretly gay quarterback (and they’re ALL secretly gay) would wear under his jersey for the big home game. And can we FINALLY get on board with the idea that most fascinators look stupid on women? Because they do. They’re like the square-tipped French manicures of hair.
Oh. Oh honey. I…that’s…wow…ruffles. And bleach. And Orange. And…I don’t even have the strength. It’s like the coral reef died of peroxide poisoning and took up residence on your top.
And finally I will leave you with an outfit I know some of you would love and wear (probably the same people who are going to yell at me about renn fests being full of ugly girls) and I’ll admit it: This could be a lot worse. Oh, I still think it’s bad, and her hair is tragiculous, but I don’t HATE the fascinator on her, and at least she’s mostly covered and not BRIGHT orange.
OMG YAY! It’s the Grand National!
People, there are very few things that make the small stone scarab that lives in place of my heart jump with absolute glee. Traveler weddings are one, The idea of the Archbishop of
My Pants Canterbury in my monogrammed towel is another and the Grand National is the third.
One of the many many things I love about the British is they do trashy and ridiculous the way trashy and ridiculous ought to be done.
This year at Aintree the look is full-on WAG. Fun fact: the summer I turned 20 I was, technically speaking, a WAG. I was dating a wonderful Belgian soccer player who goes down in history as the only boy I ever really Done Wrong. Since then, I’ve always had an affection for footballers’ Wives And Girlfriends, although the most exciting thing I ever got out of my short-lived career was a deep and heartfelt appreciation for big nuts.
However, my affection didn’t extend to dressing like them –although this was before the days of true WAG excess– unlike these poor but colorful souls.
Now I WILL give it up to the last big girl in the hot pink dress because she looks great considering she’s wearing The Cruelest Fabric and at least her dress fits her as opposed to Captain Redbra next to her.
I also have great affection for the girl with the Bad Magenta Hair because, as some friends and I were saying just the other day, we’ve ALL been the girl with BMH. Granted I was 14 and it was 1993, but she makes the most of it. I also think I might covet her shoes.
The girl in the polka dots with the Alice band? Not so much. By which I mean not at all. Listen, I get it and I’m excited that Beth Ditto got her own line at Evans, but WOW. That’s a lot happening in one…smock/dress (sm’ess?) and I feel like we ought to talk about the shoe situation.
I love a statement shoe as much as the next gal BUT if your ankles aren’t shall we say, delicately turned, and you’ve got fleshsome feet, maybe MAYBE a shoe with a multitude of straps that look like they’re about thirty seconds away from actually cutting off all blood to your little piggies (who have been through so much!) is not the best look for you. Would a pair of orange skimmers have KILLED you?
Oh, and the girl in yellow. Blessherheart. I am so, SO behind her in theory. Black+brights = WIN. It’s something you see more on the continent than you do here, but her best laid plans ganged TOTALLY freakin’ agley. I don’t even have that much of a beef with the stretch vinyl go-go boots because she had VISION and while it didn’t really work for her, I appreciate vision.
The wrap. If you’re going to wear a wrap you’ve got to WEAR it. Don’t just sling it around yourself like the electric kool-aid acid blankey. Either tie it –a hacking knot would’ve been nice– or pin it or do SOMETHING so it’ll stay in place.
Also, if you’re going to do BRIGHTS you’ve got to do hair and makeup to suit it. From neck down it’s HELLO I’M HERE CAN YOU SEE ME but chins up it’s blahsville. It creates an unbalanced look. Don’t ever let your clothes be more dramatic than your face. That doesn’t necessarily mean brighter or more painted, but it’s gotta balance. Here’s a better version of the bumblebee chic:
Much better, all things considered. Plus I’d cut her for her hat.
The two pink girls I like. The tall gangly one especially –although I hope she’s wearing a slip– because it’s loud, but it’s edited. She’s not wearing a statement dress AND a statement bag AND a statement hat AND a statement necklace AND AND AND. She’s got the focus on just the dress and the hat, which suits her face.
The girl next to her…that’s a mess.
Listen, I hate to be heightist but some people are too short for big millinery and she? Is too short for that hat. Plus, you can’t just put a race hat on willy nilly and expect it to work. You’ve got to get the hair out of your face, and think about your neck. A big hat needs neck. For those of us not blessed with long necks, we’ve got to be super-careful with how we pick our accessories if we’re wearing a hat. Generally speaking, necklaces are a bad idea. I usually just wear a pair of button-style earrings, usually pearls, to bring attention to the face and make the look polished, but not busy.
If she’d ditched the hat, gotten the hair out of her eyes, and just gone with the necklace (and found a bra that didn’t show) she would’ve been far better off.
Want to see more pictures and read some of the bitchiest copy this side of…me? Clickety click!
So this is what it’s come to, huh? This is my life. I’m a thirty year-old woman and I am talking about vajazzling.
My life wasn’t always like this you know. I’m a scholar.
I speak three languages and that’s not even including Latin! I know STUFF.
Like you know whose wang is on the cover of the (uh) seminal Rolling Stones album “Sticky Fingers”with cover art done by Andy Warhol? I DO.
Can you identify all the maple trees found in North America by binomial nomenclature? I CAN.
I know all SORTS of stuff, but NO. I’m here writing about VAJAZZLING because APPARENTLY whatshername, with the orphans and the boobs, got her squirrel all sparkled up and thinks you should do the same.
Ladies. Seriously. Why do I even have to SAY super-gluing rhinestones on your shaven haven is a bad idea?
First of all, some things just don’t need decorating. Like you know how your grandma crocheted toilet paper cozies so instead of having the INDIGNITY of an unadorned roll of Charmin, you had something like this:
HOW? How is that an improvement? Even being a flower of the South, which means I take the exceedingly broad view of hoop skirts and bonnets, this is just infinitely INFINITELY worse!
SECONDLY, unless you’ve got laser hair removal or are on a merciless wax schedule, you’re going to get some follicular activity happening down there. I personally don’t care how you attend to your lady garden, but that cute little crystal Playboy Bunny is going to turn into “Easter egg hunt at Oilcan Harry’s” in about five to seven days and while a LITERAL Easter egg hunt at Oilcan Harry’s sounds like more fun than a wagon of puppies, a metaphorical one does not.
Also, glue does NOT last forever.
You think it might but I have eyelash extensions and I know the adhesive they use for that. That’s some hard core medical-grade stickum and even then, something occasionally gets loose. A particularly hot shower and the next thing you know it would be like the The Last Days of Disco all up in your lady lounge.
It’d be bad enough on your own but what if it your stray sparklies was discovered by a visitor to the area? And those things have edges! Do you REALLY want to be in the emergency room explaining to the admitting nurse that your gentleman’s personal gentleman is all scratched up because of a rogue crotch-crystal? Really? Because if you think you won’t be the talk of the emergency room you have another think coming.
And what if you got pregnant? It’s all fun and games and then nine months later instead of having a normal delivery which is pretty gross anyway, your kid, the fruit of your highly sparkling loins, makes his arrival into this world in a shower of cooch-confetti like RIP FREAKIN’ TAYLOR.
Is that what you want America? Is it?
Francesca sometimes reads the blog “Single Dad/Disabled Daughter,” which is pretty much what it sounds like: it is written by a 40-something New England man whose teenage daughter is non-mobile, non-verbal, and cannot communicate in any way. (She laughs and cries, but cannot perform a repeatable action at will to represent “yes” or “no.”)
As “Pearlsky” gets older, Single Dad wants to know from his female readers how he can make his daughter look pretty and well-cared-for, without sexualizing her or crossing into creepy territory:
Should her ears be pierced? Her navel? And if so, should she wear those shirts that show her midriff?
I have always wanted, and still want, Pearlsky to blend in as much as possible . . . . Yes, I know Pearlsky will never really blend in, so maybe it is so she stands out less?
She is dark haired … do I shave her legs in the summertime when she is in shorts and swimming? Should she wear nail polish? Lipstick? (Those two are probably impractical, but still). How about mascara? If not, why do you? Being a teenager, her skin occasionally breaks out, especially in rhythm with her cycle. Should I try to minimize any acne-like activity? If so, how does that reasoning differ from mascara which would only highlight her beautiful eyes. But then, do I want to highlight anything beautiful about her? If so, why? Why not?
Francesca knows that the intelligent, stylish and friendly women here will have good pointers for this poor stymied man! Read the whole post and share your wisdom here.
P.S. Word to the wise: Single Dad really does not like it when people compliment him for being strong or doing things that they don’t think they could do in his shoes. He is also tired of “Lord bless you and Pearlsky” sentiments. FYI.
So you know how sometimes when life gets rilly rilly hard you sometimes secretly have to pull over on the side of the road in the middle of rush hour traffic and cryandcryandcry and wish that JUST ONCE you could go back to the days where the hardest decision you ever had to make was what color carpet square you wanted to use for nap time and whether your new scissors REALLY “won’t cut hair” BECAUSE NO ONE BREAKS YOUR BURNT SIENNA CRAYON AND LIVES TO TELL THE TALE, HEATHER WEINSTEIN-TAMAGUCHI!
And then you go buy yourself a $200 bottle of Scotch and a $300 pair of shoes and then realize being a grown-up isn’t so bad?
Basically the flipside to having freedom and being taken seriously is the opportunity for a lot of stuff to go wrong, which is why, from a purely political point of view, I am extremely glad Monif C’s new collection exists. They are NOT muu-muus made out of the curtains of some tragic mid-western housewife who has sublimated her Unmet Womanly Needs into a penchant for gingham, kitties and “Country Cute” décor. Because not that very long ago, those were our options.
Now, thanks to independent designers like Monif C –who is a Very Nice Person– that’s no longer the case, and no matter what we feel about individual collections; we should be grateful not to be held under the tyranny of the shapeless corduroy jumper any more.
That being said:
HOLY HAIR HOPPING MOTHER OF GOD THIS IS A MESS.
This isn’t just a hot tranny mess, this is a super-heated tranny mess. This is a tranny mess only reproducible in a controlled scientific environment, after years and years of government funding and Swiss guys in lab coats running around trying to promise everyone that they’re PRETTY SURE they won’t create a black hole and end existence as we know it.
and I’m just going to say it…that is Too Much Weave.
I love big hair as much as the next gal but I’m pretty sure Chaka Khan, Miss Diana Ross and the Mesdames Knowles (Tina, Beyoncé and That Other one), upon being presented with this look would arch their collective eyebrows and say “uh…that’s a little much.”
Now, I am all sorts of down with editorial fashion choices, more so than most of my colleagues in the fatosphere, so I take the broad view of “wearable” and I actually really like the “Lolita” zebra kimono because it’s totally something I would wear when I was 70, lounging by the veranda while some Sweet Young Thing cleaned my pool and I polished my jewelry (those last two may or may not be euphemisms. Hint: they are.)
But the thing about this collection is yes, it’s a mess, but it’s a purposeful mess. It’s tragic in a thoroughly thought-out, committed way and I applaud that. I’m not even sure there aren’t a couple of pieces that couldn’t be de-skanked into something that doesn’t scream “I write off my IUD as a business expense”.
The problem, of course, is much of this collection seems to subscribe to the Beyoncé School of Fashion Technology: too tight, too short, too low, too loud and just too, too much. Too bad.
So think what you will about Monif’s wares, but be thankful it exists. It means the fashion community can support a plus size designer who has her own vision and that is a good thing, even if this isn’t: