Garbage Pail Kid

Garbage Pail Kid

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Silence of the Lambs Bed Set from West Elm

"Hahahahhaha...you are SO funny!!!" I look in his eyes, here we are after our 3rd date, 2 weeks of texts and anxious calls and we made it, we made it to his front door. Everything seems right-to his "just so" stubble and his impeccable J. Crew weekend look. "I have butterflies Jack, are you going to let me in or what?" I say without puking a little watermelon and feta salad in my mouth. His eyes widen and then his smile deflates and he says, " I have butterflies too Liz." Some part of me deep down inside knows that the way he said this was off, but what could possibly be wrong? We went to Rockefeller Plaza for hot cocoa for pete's sake! A few twists of the key and we are in...Jack C. Peterman's apartment on East 82nd Street, I've arrived.

I wake up. The last thing I remember is the bedroom door opening. I am tied with what feels like
rattan and frayed cotton strips, there is a pile of birch logs sitting on my chest and a tiny intricate twig pentagram dangling from the ceiling a half an inch from my toes. I try to scream, my heart is pounding, there is an antler shoved in my mouth!!!! What the hell is going on...where is Jack!!! Why is it so bright....the butterflies...Jack is sitting on the floor next to bare stripped bed wrapped in a butterfly duvet cover, rocking back and forth saying something over and over. I make it out that he is repeating a very, very large number...if that is his net worth I am still so interested.

Till next time,
Lizzy xoxo

Fashemerg is DUNZO

Um, sorry ladies, but have you seen this little satirical gem?  It comes from Lifetime television's caption contest.  They are chock full of jest, parody, and overall biting wit.  We can't compete...there's no way.  Their "caption splash" contest is like the parlor of Sir Oscar Wilde himself.  Observe the majesty of this cat, child, and blurry girl.  A normal afternoon in a yard, suddenly becomes a literal "lol" situation.  

What do you have to declare?  Only the genius of these contributors.  They must all be MIT graduates in the art of "stick-it-to-you-ness."  All our snark has been for nought.   Fashemerg can't go on when these kinds of bon mots exist.

Lesson here is: why bother?

The Real Deal

Where will you be May 2010? If you're like me and you look like a celebrity, you will be at the Original Celebrity Impersonator's Convention!  And, hell, I throw the term "celebrity" around loosely.  We're talking political figures, popular movie characters, television characters, and historical figures.  As long as you are not being yourself, you are welcome here.  Where else can you see Kramer, Saddam Hussein, and George W. Bush enjoying a mimosa?

Remember Shania Twain?  Well, her impersonator says, "I just wanted to thank you so much for putting the conference together. It was an experience of a lifetime for me... something I will remember for the rest of my life." Dianna Paige as Shania Twain

They've got seminars, showcases, and "beau coup schmoozing!"  Grab your wig, boombox, and homemade headshot.  Because, baby, this is your time to shine!

German Fashion is Timeless

xo,
lucia

like a little bitch

I turned off the computer and got into my pj's. I waited all day to slip into bed and curl up to the "W magazine" sized promo piece for Topshop's opening ceremony: April 2nd!!!! I read it cover to cover, with an ever increasing knot in my stomach. My conscious: "I am a 29 year old woman, I have to go to work that day, I have responsibilities" ...but my lil' devil kept prancing around my head with various fantasy frocks in hand, as if his little hoofed half horse self could gallop back and forth to the racks as I stand in the dressing room of the future at the new Topshop. I was already calculatiing account transfers, pleading letters to family over the importance of my participation of the this fundamental cultural shift in New York street fashion, and that is why they should loan me hunderds of dollars. Man this has me in it's grip. That is exactly why I need to stand firm and realize that I will participate in some way: I am sending cosmic female rays into the mass of energy this fucking store opening is creating. Like a glittery pink cloud of hormonal uproar pluming above Soho.

What Style Means to Me.

I mean it.

xo, lucia