Vanity

Fall is practically upon us, which means (among other things) that we are being told how to dress. Let's start with the girls: AD's swimsuit may have grown into her skin to the point that it will take a potato peeler to remove it and get her street legal for school, plus I've got to somehow convince the RM that her underwear is not in fact a storage unit but is instead the foundation (garment) of basic civilized behavior. AD will be fairly easy, but the RM is, as always, likely to be a different story - I'll be reasonably satisfied if I can get her to stop sticking apples in her ass. That's not a quaint country euphemism, yesterday I actually caught her trying to hold an apple slice between her nude buttcheeks. Nothing new there other than the choice of foodstuffs, but still, not the kind of thing that brings joy to a mother's heart. We'll see.

This is also the time of year when all the fashion magazines deliver their edicts for the coming seasons. Having grown up as a product of Marts both K and Stein, I generally ignore this; fashion was not something my parents put a lot of emphasis on, and I got that gene in triplicate. Please don't mistake me - aside from an inexplicable Cosby sweater bender my dad went on in the mid '80's my parents have always dressed nicely, albeit frugally. It wasn't as if they were walking around in nothing but Ariel underwear with Granny Smiths sticking out of their butts (I guess the RM got a double recessive gene somewhere with that shit), but there wasn't exactly an Andre Leon Talley in residence on Grandview Avenue. The joke among my high school friends was "I'm going to Sam's Club - Elise, do you need any clothes?" Which probably doesn't count as a joke since that's exactly what my mother said on a weekly basis. And still does. So I'm generally not the target audience for the glossy magazines; I'd probably get as much out of a prostate exam as I would from a subscription to "Vogue". JHP has actually been known to confiscate and hide certain items of my clothing because I am unskilled to the point of embarrassment.

That being said, even I know something's wrong with the latest issue of a magazine that's generally pretty harmless, "Vanity Fair". Some of those ads can only be explained by the fact that the fashion industry is testing the limits of American stupidity. For one thing, this:

We are expected to believe that appropriate spelunking attire is a leather glove-purse and a panty; I am not buying that, not for one minute. The only thing that keeps me from immediately loathing this designer is that he goes pretty far in redeeming himself on the next page with this

probably the first model that I am in no way jealous of. What is that face? I think she knows how dumb this is. Thank you for the wink and the nudge, Marc Jacobs - you get that we may be on to you.

 

These also bugged me. Who wants their legs to look like a cigarette holder or an Abraham Lincoln hat?

 

 

 

The shoe industry is another thing altogether - just check out one of the Chanel shoe ads in the Sunday "New York Times" and try and convince me they're not running a long con on women of a certain income. Talk about ugly. Maybe that's what the Marc Jacobs woman is thinking about, all those duped women running around the Upper East Side in footwear that looks like Sesame Street hand puppets. I furthermore don't understand how certain poses are supposed to make you want to wear the clothes. This woman is not aspirational, she's ready for Fight Club. What's the first rule of Versace? Don't talk about Versace. She'll kick the crap out of you for sure.





Lest you have any remaining doubts that we're being played, I leave you with this

These are the "Days of Our Lives" of glasses - for the person who will fall for anything. "Hope Brady's back from the dead and is actually Princess Gina, notorious art thief? Sure! Oh, and after the show's over, let's go spend a bunch of money on orange Elvis sideburn glasses, hakay?" These are what finally prompted me to toss the magazine in the trash. I don't need this kind of negative energy. Plus, I have to go to Costco...the girls need back to school clothes.