Several Deadly Sins of Heidi Montag

Heidi Montag fascinates me. And I know I'm not the only one. I would never go as far to say that’s she’s a “feminist hero” or whatever that crazy broad at The NY Times declared, but her presence is definitely something akin to that watching a car wreck cliché.

So yes, I look—admittedly—when I know I should be looking away. My fascination and all of those like it have created the monster that she has become, that poor thing. And even though I could wax philosophic on her public loss of integrity, her increasingly emaciated frame, and the size A breast implants that have somehow made their way up to her lips, today I am going to focus on what I find most urgently offensive: the fact that her stylist put her in Chloé!

WTF?

Chloé is reserved for fashion girls and fashion girls alone. The famously fabulous French fashion house which helped crank out the careers of Karl Lagerfeld, Stella McCartney and Phoebe Philo is not something to be taken lightly. Actually, it is. But lightly in that artistic, effortlessly chic kind-of-way. It should not be taken in any kind of way by Heidi Montag.

I MEAN…she’s promoting a “fashion” line called Heidiwood! In Kitson of all places, for Christ’s sake! Kitson and anything related—especially anything with a Heidi-hybrid name—are the fashion anti-Christ where Chloé is its’ guardian angel. You don’t see Jesus, Mary and Joseph wandering around Purgatory, do you? And thus, you should never see Heidi Montag in Chloé.

Woah, I have no idea where all the allusions to Christianity came from (maybe it’s because the Pope’s in town?!?). But since I’ve already started, I guess I could add that seeing her in Stella McCartney for her staged Easter pics should have been taken as a sign of the impending Apocalypse. Either way, her stylist should be crucified and never resurrected (ok, now I’m taking it too far…).

Let’s get back to my point. Anyone who knows Chloé understands it should be appreciated in pieces. Although equally fabulous, one would never wear that dress and those shoes together, where I am sure head-to-toe Heidiwood would fare just fine.

Final Word: Just because all the girls on The Hills have 17 different Chanel bags doesn’t mean their allowed to engage in real fashion (with the exception of maybe, Whitney). Stick to what you know ladies; you were doing just fine in label-whore sunglasses, fitted tank tops and low-waisted jeans. I don’t want to have to get all religious again.

Fashion Flashback

We are TOTALLY bugging about London’s darling designer House of Holland's new line. Holland was the brains behind last season’s ubiquitous tongue-in-chic fashion tees, IE: “Cause Me Pain, Heidi Slimane”, thus becoming essential clubbing gear for hipsters worldwide from Black Calvados in Paris to Beatrice Inn in New York, but this season he’s gone a bit more ready-to-wear-ish than raver-ish. A bit.

Yesterday for his Fall 08 collection, Henry Holland turned stateside for inspiration with a nod to our 90s pop culture, namely, Clueless (Also known as the self-defining film of our adolescence.) Holland opened the show with an amazingly garish purple plaid ensemble, a la Cher and Di circa 1995. I’m not sure about you, but these outrageous outfits pretty much covered my wardrobe in 7th grade, thigh highs and all. Ah, adolescence; baby tees, cropped neon mohair sweaters, platform loafers…I mean, was there anything better?? Tragic pubescent awkwardness and fatal catfights notwithstanding, those were the best years of our lives.



But Holland has served us up some piping hot memories of our youth without a side of teen angst, just how we like it. He even updated the look with a new cheeky tee and rugged ankle boots, plus it-Brit model Agyness Denn makes a superb Alicia Silverstone of the new millennium.

Final Word: So are these garish duds coming back?? I’m not quite sure if I could pull off the puerile yet precocious Lolita look in my twenties, but Lord help me, I can try.

An Open Letter to Chris Benz

Dear Mr. Benz,

We are at a strange time in fashion where personality seems to have eclipsed talent. Many young designers have earned their merits by logging in hours at Socialista rather than the studio, befriending a celebutante, calling her his muse, and churning out a few duds. Call us old fashioned, but that a designer does not make. Of course Hubert de Givenchy had Audrey Hepburn, Oleg Cassini had Jackie O, but these brilliant men owned talent and innovation beyond comprehension, and the relationships were reciprocal – they were not just one another’s party buddy.

Case in point: yourself. A regular fixture at Rose Bar and Beatrice Inn, the fashion world is abuzz with all things Benz. Even I was convinced when I saw you in a homemade towel turban at Colin Cowie’s party at the Hotel Belvedere in Mykonos; I was a bit star struck as I knew I was in the presence of the next designer du jour. We adored your Mary Tyler Moore 70s-inspired spring collection. It was as if Annie Hall had literally time traveled to present day looking as chic and fresh as ever. Those loose layers, that Technicolor palette, it was perfection.



But after a quick glance at your latest work, I’m afraid all of that ouzo and those flashing bulbs may have seeped through your turban. The clothing you previewed this week was sadly uninspired – as if you rummaged through Screaming Mimi’s and the Antique Boutique (Remember the beloved hand-me-down mecca on Broadway circa 1996?) and called it a day. Placing a gnome’s cap atop a translucent afro’ed model does not a designer make.

Final Word: We know you are talented, which is why we beseech you to reconsider that next invite to Paper’s Most Beautiful People party or whatever pseudo-uber-fete it may be to take time and put more thought into your next collection, we sincerely look forward to it.

With Love,
The Blackberrie

House Warming

I am drained. Between the Giants winning the Superbowl, Obama and Hillary neck and neck, and fashion week at its peak, I am emotionally, intellectually and spiritually exhausted.

No, I am not about to check myself into a psychiatric ward as is the trend in Tinseltown, but my senses cannot possibly bear any more over stimulation. I am unsure why the gods have collided my three greatest loves in one week (Obama is getting there), but to their own--and my acupuncturist’s--delight, they seem to find it comical to mess with my stress levels from time to time.

With the NY Post, Daily News, Times and every other tri-state media outlet covering the Giants historical win, we can focus the Blackberrie’s efforts towards more familiar pastures – fashion.



Oh fashion week, how we’ve neglected you. Big Blue’s victory has made it almost impossible to visit Style, ELLE, or any couture related dot-coms, and even more impossible to venture near the Tents at Bryant Park (even though they are around the corner). Instead of Oscar, Diane and Marc, visions of Manning, Tyree and Strayhan danced in our heads. But no more. With the last shred of the confetti fallen at City Hall and the ticker tape no longer ticking (What the hell is ticker tape anyway?) We can now focus our attention on much more serious things – the Fall 2008 collections.



Let us simply lay down the highlights, which we are sure to be donning downtown (or uptown depending on your zip code). Designers as a whole have made a move towards sophisticated, climate-appropriate, and proper dressing. Pencil skirts, skinny belts, wide trousers were abundant with no shortage of cozy knits and furs and hardly a mini in sight. Just glancing at our good friend Peter Som's looks (shown here), could it be that we are reverting back to the traditional time, when ladies dressed as ladies and gentlemen acted like, well, gentlemen? Perhaps dressing the part is all that it takes- The New York Times seems to think so.




Final Word: With demure dressing back, we wonder if true decorum will follow. Perhaps we are not far from afternoon teas at the Plaza, long walks in the park and even a good old-fashioned Blockbuster (read: Netflix) night. We can’t speak for others but with all this tweed and tartan, a cozy night by the fire, or radiator, seems to be just what the doctor ordered.

Interview To Be The Next French Vogue?

The recent departure of Editor In Chief Ingrid Sischy and co-owner Sandra Brant of Interview Magazine has left the publishing world reeling. The shocking resignation has moved media minds to ask, what is a magazine without its face? It’s difficult (perhaps impossible) to imagine a VOGUE without Anna or an ELLE without Nina, so how shall Interview fare sans Ingrid? Sischy, the ultimate idiosyncracy of the fashion world defied the fashion industry with her unkempt coiffe, dark framed spectacles and hardly sample size frame, yet simultaneously, she defined it. Her work reflected the same counterpoint with A-list celebrities in raw, “I don’t give a f-ck” looks. It wasn’t about the trends or the latest collections, it was about the integrity of the shot.

Now that she is gone, shall Interview continue its groundbreaking and anti-market styling? Fabien Baron, former creative director of Paris Vogue, has been tapped to lead Interview out of Ingrid’s celeb-studded pages and into a more (most likely) fashion forward book. Glenn O’Brien (who worked at Interview during the Warhol days) will act as co-director.

Final Word: There is nothing the Blackberrie adores more than Paris Vogue, in fact its art design is a model for a future Blackberrie Book (Yes, we too wait with breath that is bated.) But shall Baron's Parisian take-no-prisoners fashion aesthetic translate to the gritty pop culture mag that made its case on criticizing (at best) and mocking (at worst) its glossy contemporaries? On verra…

Base Couture

At yesterday’s Chanel haute couture show in Paris, Karl Lagerfeld stayed true to form by questioning customs on the catwalk yet again. Against a blanche neige backdrop that could easily double for Tchaicovsky’s The Nutcracker, nimble Anna Pavlova look-alikes festooned in feathers and frills glided down the runway in Swan Lake-inspired ensembles and contrastingly humble flats, not unlike the ones I wear to work.

Although it is obvious flats are MTA-approved footwear, there is something undeniably chic about wearing unfussy shoes with a decidedly fussy frock. Hepburn, Birkin, and Seberg all proved that ages ago; yet why are we still surprised to see them at an haute couture catwalk half a century later? Are we really imprisoned by our own visions of the proverbial glass slipper? And what if Cinderella had worn Repettos to the ball? Well, she probably would not have forsaken her shoe and would have made those evil stepsisters green with envy as she danced the night away.




But what was the Kaiser’s motive behind pairing painstakingly ornate gowns with simple ballerinas ironically during a season where more is more and bigger is better? Perhaps he did not want to be upstaged by John Galliano yet again and simply threw in the serviette- although that is doubtful coming from the ultimate overachiever/designer/photographer/DJ/tastemaker (Need I go on?).




With the revival of bygone Chanel muse Devon Aoki to close the show, perhaps Mr. Lagerfeld simply craved the comfort of the familiar –and in depths of our year’s first cold front when the thought of high (or any) fashion is daunting, this sort of comfort is quite welcome.

Final Word: Although we applaud Mr. Lagerfeld for challenging fashion foundations, it remains to be seen if social swans shall trade their Louboutins for low loafers at their next uptown gala. After all, what is a fairy tale without the glass slipper?

Laces In!

Last night while out for drinks, my girlfriend and I were accosted by a handful of overzealous, cheesy single guys with no sense of humor or self-deprecation (a bad combination), which made for easy fodder for belligerent mockery. But what really caught our attention, other than the conspicuous Ashlee Simpson name dropping (Yes, apparently there are people who actually name drop Ashlee Simpson.), was the unbelievable choice of footwear.

There were the ubiquitous Kenneth Cole leather loafers, the my-girlfriend-bought-me-these-but-really-I’m-so-far-deep-in-the-closet-I-actually-believe-I’m-straight knee high-motorcycle boots, and the worst of all offenders, laceless Converse. Regarding the latter pair, I just don’t get it. The unisex equivalent to UGGs, these stringless shoes are no doubt convenient but socially acceptable? I think not. Is it because people are so busy that lace tying is just too much? Is it meant to look casually bohemian, as in F the man and his commercial laces? Is it some sort of underground trend that I'm unaware of? When I first spotted the abhorrent All Stars, I was like, ok, they ditched their laces, that’s sort of cool and different. But then I saw them everywhere, and I realized in horror, people buy them like that? Oh no, not ok.

Now I would hate to think I’m a sneaker snob, after all, sneakers are simply what one wears to avoid fashion critique. However with shoe fetishes at an all-time high (New York Magazine just revealed its annual best sneaker stores this week), sneakerheads all but earning a place in Websters dictionary and more and more uber-specialty boutiques popping up devoted to making the masses feel inadequate to their trendy trainers (Nike ID, get a grip with your VIP appointments), there is some merit to making a wise decision in casual footwear.

Final Word: Fret not lace-a-phobes, we have the perfect solution with our choice kick du jour: A classic Vans slip on in navy leather – basic, retro and virtually foolproof. The collegiate color is surprisingly neutral, plus there’s the skater appeal, which is always cool. Available at vans.com

Can’t Buy Me Love? Mais, bien sur…

It was recently reported by the New York Times that French President Nicolas Sarkozy and his new girlfriend singer/supermodel Carla Bruni might be engaged. This is certainly controversial news considering their flashy and splashy romance, spanning the globe from the Pyramids of Giza to the deserts of Saudi Arabia and causing serious controversy in the Middle East not to mention Sarkozy’s approval ratings taking a vertiginous plunge. However, this is not our topic of debate- we’re just not that deep.

In the article, the Times goes on to describe the alleged engagement ring as a heart-shaped diamond designed by none other than the whimsical Dior jewelry maven Victoire de Castellanne whose cartoonish gems have made her a favorite among fashion-conscious pop culture personalities like Pharell Williams and magazines such as ELLE and Nylon (Interestingly enough this decadent detail was found in Tuesday’s cover section, not the Style section). Madame Castellanne’s cheeky chains chockfull of Hello Kitty heads and Bambi-inspired baubles are not exactly what one expects for a presidential engagement band, however, this is France, and in France, fashion comes first.

So why is it that where French men seem to know what women want, American men seem to think whatever comes in a teal cardboard box is acceptable (Quelle horreur!)? French men get away with, nay, celebrate the fact that they know couture as well as their wives, girlfriends, and mistresses. I am reminded of the scene in the film Le Divorce starring Kate Hudson where her green American character becomes an older French man’s mistress and he purchases her a crocodile Hermes Kelly bag at the beginning of their clandestine affair, only to end it with a Chanel scarf. Pas mal.

Final Word: Although the French seem to equate retail purchases with love and all things amoureux (they even call products placed near the cash register “coups de coeur,” literally translated as “blows to the heart”), does it mean their brand of love lasts longer? Most likely not, but one thing is for sure, an Hermes bag sure does stand the test of time. Monsiuer Sarkozy, take note.

I am The Waris

Who is Waris Ahluwalia, really? According to Jalouse, the French fashion magazine featuring him on this month’s cover, he’s the coolest guy in the world. From his general run-down we know he’s an actor, a jewelry designer and an international jet-set celebrity shoulder-rubber. But coolest guy in the world? The title may be a bit much.

Waris flew onto my radar last week when I saw his jewelry line, House of Waris, in the uber-cool Miami Beach boutique Alchemist. When I noticed him on the cover of Jalouse a few days later I figured he was someone worth learning a little more about.

I thought this may be difficult. He has an untouchable cool surrounding his persona, so much so that I was convinced he would be untraceable, un-Google-able, in that that ”I’m so under-the-radar but have a very strategic publicist” kind of way. But, not so much.

With a couple strokes of the keyboard I discovered a quite extensive bio. It goes a little something like this…privileged New York upbringing, upstate liberal arts college, did the music thing, got bored, did the magazine upstart, lost interest, got involved in some charities, so that’s good, made a ring, some buyer liked it, we sold a few (to mainly celebs!) and now I am a jewelry designer.

Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but I am pretty sure that sounds like every boring girl in New York who can’t hold a job or figure out what she wants to do with her life so she “starts a jewelry company.” One more exciting than the next, let me tell you…

Now just because he’s a dude and he’s randomly appeared in a few Wes Anderson and Spike Lee films—bold-name buddies never hurt—does that make him anymore interesting? Not in my book. And I’m ok with the fact that Tatler, Vogue, Elle, Vanity Fair, The New York Times, Complex, Paper, Surface, W and every other media outlet/purveyor of cool disagrees with me.

Final Word: The jewelry is actually quite interesting—too bad it gets overshadowed by the obsession. But in the Paris Hilton school of marketing the persona is always bigger than the product. So the world’s coolest person? I think not. But on his way to becoming one of the most successful? That I could possibly believe.

Costume Rationale

This morning as I dressed for work, I felt the primal urge to reach for cream stockings, demure Chanel flats, a simple peacoat and equally buttoned-up frock. As I made my way to the metro, I caught a glimpse of my reflection a passing storefront window. Who was that frou frou fille looking back at me? Certainly not the one whose fashion icon on any given day more resembles Jane Birkin than Jane Eyre. But low and behold, it was me, top to bottom looking exactly like Blair Waldorf.

For those of you who have been eeking out an existence of irrelevance, Miss Waldorf is the deliciously deviant prep schooler on the deliciously devious show Gossip Girl. Indeed in the course of the WGA strike, GG has stormed media channels from TRL to the Times and it’s not news that its iconic UES style is half the draw. Unlike other teen shows before, Gossip Girl takes fashion very seriously. Its costume designer, Eric Daman, is not afraid to whip out insider labels like Alexander Wang and pair him with Forever 21 togs, as real NYC girls do all the time. Chanel, Fendi, Gucci are also staples for these girls who very realistically borrow from their well manicured mothers.

What kills me, however, is that with the plethora of fashion fortunes at his fingertips, why does Daman seem to never get it? As my friend commented, although we seek out the latest Malandrino dress immediately after the show wraps, we could or should never copy Daman’s total look (As I brutally realized en route to the office today.) Blair ends up looking too costumey while her counterpart Serena Van Der Woodsen looks like she simply missed the point. Granted it is a television show and costumes are exactly what they are, but if Daman gives us a Phillip Lim cookie, we’re probably gonna ask for a glass of Vena Cava. What we want is something equal to what legendary stylist Patricia Field did for Sex and the City (for which Daman curiously assisted). But where Field puts real thought into her characters (we actually believed Carrie belted Mr. Big’s button-down as a day dress), Daman cherry-picks trends to lazily create a look out of the NY Post style pages (Sorry Amy DiLuna.) Do we honestly believe that S would wear those wedge boots with that red leather perfecto over her uniform? A true fan has to believe S is better than that.

Final Word: This is not a harsh critique, just a simple request that Mr. Daman try a little harder. We’re sure he did not expect the runaway success of the show, this is the CW after all, but the reality is we’re watching- fashionistas, editors, ex-prep schoolers, in other words, girls who know their business- and in the business of fashion, we don’t mess around.

Love Me, Love My Moncler

With winter officially here (Hello, snow!), it seems anyone who’s in the know is taking Jack Frost’s cue and breaking out his or her Moncler making the city streets look more like Aspen village than Greenwich Village. Montcler, the quintessential après-chic outerwear for any jet set skier worth his weight in Audemar Piguets, is making a comeback. Or did it ever leave? Everyone, I mean everyone, has whipped out the tight and taught goose down jackets from nightclub doormen who need not freeze while snubbing undesirables to chic girls about town looking to stay warm while getting their party on. My girlfriend Hope exclaimed coming home the other night, “Everyone and their mother is wearing a Moncler,” as she unzipped her cropped bomber version and threw it next to my shiny PVC style. Yeah, we got ‘em too. And although there are no slopes in our near future (we’re more beach bums than ski bunnies), at least we still look the part, right?

Final Word: You need not own a chalet in St. Moritz to get the privileged Swiss Miss look. These covetable coats are available at Barneys New York or Intermix.

Thoroughly Thinspired

Eating disorders are making a comeback! Just when I thought the head cases of today relied on prescription pills, cocaine consumption and a steady stream of Ballerina Tee to stay thin, good ole’ anorexia and bulimia are popping up all over pop culture. How 90’s!

We were just talking about that Lifetime Original where the bulimic girl stores her vomit in Tupperware containers and stacks it in her closet. That visual is forever burned in our minds. Classic ’94 after-school special in the post-Tracey Gold days.

The 2007 resurgence started with last week’s episode of Nip/Tuck when Eden, the show’s newest Lolita, successfully convinces 12-year-old Annie that she has to become either anorexic or bulimic to gain the attention of her schoolboy crush.

They weighed their options—no pun intended—with a pro-eating disorder website and tried to decide which of their “good friends” to side with, “Ana or Emi.” Sadly, we came to discover that such websites actually do exist. But then again, of course they do.

But Nip/Tuck is always sick and twisted, so this didn’t surprise us much. But when Blair Waldorf had a bulimia montage on last night’s Thanksgiving episode of Gossip Girl we knew that eating disorder “it” status was solidified.

It comes as no surprise that Blair is, or was, a bulimic. Her fashion-designer/socialite mother is always saying things like “change into something enchanting” or “wear pearls with that,” her father is a fairy who ran off to Europe with a male model, and she has spent her life living in the shadows of her best friend S.

She’s a classic case. But controlling your weight does not add control to your life, B! Plus, no one ever got THAT thin using the binging and purging method anyway. Though I did enjoy watching her house that entire chicken potpie! That baby did not stand a chance.

In addition, I love that the word “thinspiration” has now been added to the lexicon.

Final Word: Thin is in! Confidence and perspective is so passé. Everyone knows that. Everyone does.

How Sweet It Is

Sweet Bessie's: The Better Bakeshop.

Cupcakes are most certainly the new “it” dessert. Sex in The City—and the tour that now immortalizes it—did wonders for Magnolia’s sales and the competition has been popping up all over the place. Billy’s Bakery, Cupcake Café and even the now defunct Burgers & Cupcakes, which made a go on 23rd Street (the name explains the demise).

And the craze is not only in New York, I was in LA last week and my friend requested none other than Sprinkles cupcakes for her birthday celebration. I waited in line for half an hour and dropped nearly $40 on a dozen.

I totally understand the buzz around cupcakes. They’re a nostalgic little food that brings us back to a life less complicated, when birthday celebrations meant pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey and not 30-person dinners at Mr. Chow (just to kick the week off, of course).

Cupcakes are fun and make people happy. In a world with so many choices and preferences, cupcakes are a dessert that is so easily personalized. Why bring a pie to a dinner party when you can bring 12 varieties of cupcakes? There’s always something for everyone.

My only problem with these designer cupcakes is the fact that they are so overloaded on sugar that eating half of one makes me want to kill myself. I cannot move and my appetite is non-existent for at least 12 hours. A cupcake coma, if you will.

So imagine my delight when I discovered Sweet Bessie’s.

Sweet Bessie’s is a brand-new Manhattan-based bakeshop that boasts of 25 flavors of all natural, organic, allergen-free cupcakes. The little cakes are sweetened with natural sweeteners like agave nectar and fruit puree. All the recipes have been created and perfected for years by secret family recipes.

This mom-and-pop bakeshop is sure to be the next big thing. Well, if I have anything to do with it.

Final Word: Sweet Bessie’s makes its official debut Thursday November 15 at the Doucette Duvall/ Madison Harding sample sale & cocktail celebration. More details to follow.

An Open Letter to Arden Wohl

New York is always on the hunt for its next PYT. Likewise, PYTs are always on the hunt for some fabricated fame. But what New York loves even more than its next it-girl, is its next anomaly.

Ahn Duong, Celia Dean, Yvonne Force Villareal – all idosyncratic women of the beau monde, set the standard. With an affinity for eccentric head gear, avant-garde fashion and real careers (mostly in the art world) these black swans have carved their own niche in New York high society that make them not only mysterious to a gaggle of Bergdorf Blondes, but also enviable. This seemed to be the case with girl about town and “aspriring filmmaker, Arden Wohl.

Dear Ms. Wohl,

First, let us congratulate you on your success. You are regular on Style.com’s party pages and becoming a fixed icon in stylish social circles. But curiously, in a recent interview, you told Gawker you would never hire a publicist because you “hate those girls” and “don’t go to a lot of events”. We're a bit perplexed at the discrepencies between your words and actions. Who cares if you like to party and get your picture taken? Nobody called you Paris. We even respect your choice in off-beat togs and indie arm candy (who doesn't love Benjamin Cho?) Just don't act like you hate it when you love it.

This contrived humility was cemented when we recently stood behind your feeble frame at a West Village juice bar aggressively barking vegan orders to an innocent hipster while shouting into a Blackberry about some flippant fete that evening, disrupting the whole Zen vibe of the environs, not to mention my post-yoga chill. The whole scenario was more obnoxious than a Great Neck Soccer Mom at dismissal line. It was scary.

We hate to pass judgment (actually, who am I kidding), but if you are so keen on not hiring a publicist, we would suggest reigning in that temper and try to avoid behaving like a spoiled brat who regularly blows her trust fund on green juices, designer duds and an endless selection of not-so-ironic American Apparel leggings. Just a thought.

With Love,
The Blackberrie

Final Word- We have Leslie Sloane's email when you need it.

Into the Wild

People tend to get polarized when it comes to fur. To wear, or not to wear- that seems to be the question. But these days it’s getting easier and easier to go Grey Gardens glam without becoming Cruella Deville.

Case in point, monkey fur. I must say I’m enamored with this savage trend that has been popping up on groovy young things from LA to London. I find the wild child look simultaneously badass and super-chic, especially paired with opaque tights and a black miniskirt, a la Kate Bosworth at, where else, the Fendi show in China against the backdrop of the Great Wall, yes, that Great Wall.




To cement this obsession, I even ordered a faux version for a mere 30 pounds on Topshop.com (my secret weapon when it comes to all things trendy). I must admit, I’m a bit apprehensive on whether I’ll end up resembling perennial trendsetter Kate Moss, or more like a Maltese that spent one too many days traipsing about a dirty city block. But what is fashion if it means not taking risks!

Final Word: In today’s modern world of endless synthetic choices, it’s silly to sacrifice another being in the name of something so frivolous as fashion, but if no animals were hurt in the process- long live frivolity!

Mama's Got Brand New...Booty Shorts?

There used to be a time when mothers were known as the ultimate nurturers, beacons of light to look up to for comfort and appropriate decorum. But today, in a world where Dina Lohans, Lynn Spears and Kathy Hiltons run rampant (and get a solid chunk in this month's Vanity Fair), where is the point of reference?

It seems this lack of sophistication has trickled down to (gasp) the upper echelon of New York society where ladies of a certain age feel they can partake in the gutter-glam revelry as well. Not one to forego fashion for formality, we understand these comfortable cougars must make their style statement, but at least it used to be in good taste (Read: Bill Blass, not T-Bags.)

Here social butterfly Helen Schifter personifes the trend to a tee. Even the chic combination of navy and black is undercut by the so-tight-it-makes-me-feel-uncomfortably-violated bicycle shorts and thigh highs socks. What could she have been thinking, one might ask? If sexy was the look, why not go for a chic and faddish pantsuit a la my own mother at a recent benefit, who looked pert and sophisticated in a silk Chloe number and a deftly styled Oscar de la Renta blazer hung over her shoulders.

Perhaps it's a matter of taste or simply a reflection of our growingly garish culture. Still, although we are loathe to the concept of Fashion Police, after all, I've owned quite a few ensembles found on the latter pages of US Weekly, this crime is simply not debatable.

Final Word: Mothers around the world, please step your game up at least for your daughters' sake...or take a cue from mine a get yourself a Chloe pantsuit.

Scenedigging 101

Every now and then my girlfriends and I find that the English vocabulary fails to serve us when it comes to discussing the trials and tribulations of our lives. Thus, we resort to creating a new terminology.

For example, “groovies” was born a few years back when trying to describe the phenomenon of girls chasing and bedding celebrity DJs across the nation in exchange for a couple minutes of booth time at a hot club. Then there was “BBM”, a useful acronym for the ever-agonizing Blackberry Messenger.

But the latest moniker of note comes from our most recent experiences which have provided enough douchebags to cover VH1 producers with the cast of I Love New York III. In fact, the douchebag factor was so high that it merited its own word: scenediggers.

The definition of a scenedigger is one who essentially latches himself onto a girl who has more going on than he does in order to gain higher social visibility. You’ve seen these dudes – Brandon Davis, Brody Jenner, Jason Wahler, Frankie Whatever-The-Fuck-His-Name-Is from The Hills, or K-Fed, the patron saint of scenediggers.

Girls take warning. Before you know it, they’re crawling on your backs at the velvet rope, ingratiating themselves with your already-happening friends, and up your ass high enough to get to the next notch of that never-ending social ladder. But don’t fret, we have some crucial clues on how to spot them before they’re uploading your pics onto their “Party Like A Rock Star IV” Facebook album.

1) They name drop. A lot.
2) Their favorite eateries are STK, Cipriani Downtown, and Nello Summerime.
3) If you meet them it will be at either Tenjune, Gold Bar or some hotspot (most likely at the door, since they can’t get in on their own).
4) Wardrobe staples include: deep v-necks, vests and “man-minas” (the male pashmina).
5) They reference D-list celebrities by their first names and say things like “No, they’re actually pretty cool.”

Final Word: In a cultural climate where scenediggers flourish and real men are nowhere to be found, you never know when your next encounter might be. But take our word of advice, if you do meet an S.D., run. We mean it, run

What Carbon Footprint?

These days it’s hard not to go green. It seems car companies, supermarkets, Oprah, are all giving us a newer and cooler alternative to live in a socially conscious and eco-aware existence. So when a new stylish and safe commodity sprouts up before our eyes, they all but fly off shelves. (Hour-long waits for “I’m Not a Plastic Bag,” anyone?)

The latest (or coolest) enviro-invention comes from cult French label WWP & PAS. A ridiculously soft eco-friendly t-shirt reading “Smells Like Green Spirit” – the tog conveniently encapsulates the grunge spirit of the 90s with the giveback spirit of this millennium. Plus 5% of all the proceeds go to the Green Cross France.

Final Word: Why not step up and wear your care on your sleeve, or chest in this case. Available at www.colette.fr.

Stella's Still Keepin' Busy

We’re huge Stella McCartney fans so don’t take this the wrong way, but Stella for H&M, Stella for Adidas, and now Stella for LeSportsac….she really pimps it!

To her credit, all of her collaborations have been both creatively and commercially successful, so we can understand why she keeps cranking them out.

Today Stella debuted her limited-edition 17-piece collection for LeSportsac, styles include camera and computer cases, hobos and 26” check-in luggage, just to name a few.

As expected from the socially and environmentally-responsible designer, the entire line is “eco-friendly’—all fabrics, hangtags and packaging are created from 100% recycled materials.

"Stella designed this with her lifestyle in mind, so these are really the items that she and her friends would carry when they travel," says a spokeswoman for LeSportsac.

Final Word: Prices range from $98-$475, styles hit stores in January.

Far Out

When I think of tie-dye several visuals immediately come to mind; Hypercolor, The Grateful Dead, and that bearded hippie guy who recently won Survivor. And while tie-dye is as much an American fashion staple as blue jeans, it has never been—in my mind at least—synonymous with high fashion.

But after last spring’s vibrant monochromatic color blocks of lapis, fuchsia and emerald, designers are now happily marrying a muted palette of beige, navy and black to create a multi-tonal sophistication appropriate for the chicest of designs.
This tie-dye may have nothing to do with rubber bands nor will it stain your hands, but the trend is still accessible to all. Both high fashion and low have attached themselves to look, peep-toe shoe by Prada and scarf by Zara pictured here.

Final Word: Former hippies rejoice! Fashion equality for all.