Ugly Clothes For Rich People: Menswear Edition

Conclusive proof that having only one X-chromosome is not sufficient to prevent a person from dressing like an idiot.

DSquared2 Cardigan, $765

Layer under a denim jacket to look both stupid and redundant!

Libertine t-shirt, $150

I realize it's some sort of guy thing to wear items of clothing until long after they have developed significant holes in them, but this seems like it's taking things a bit too far.

Veronique Branquinho overalls, $770

The manly style of auto-shop coveralls and the flattering comfort of shorts, together at last!

Neil Barrett vest, $355

"Hey, Chauncy, have you seen the front section of that double-breasted jacket I was working on? I left it right here, next to that pile of things you were going to send to the factory for production, and now I can't find it."

Comme des Garcons dickey, $240

We don't make the shirt. We make the strip of frilly fabric you attach to the shirt. And then we charge you $240 for it.

Ann Demeulemeester jacket, $870

"Oh, honey, that looks so cute on you! Hold still so I can take a picture to send to your Aunt Ann to show her how much you like the jacket she made. Smile!"

Maison Martin Margiela jacket, $1490

What we have here is a demonstration the limitations of the average menswear model. Clearly, this jacket was meant to be worn by the MC for an off-Strip Vegas lounge show, or the guy who tells people on The Price Is Right to come on down.

Yohji Yamamoto coat, $4340

Perfect for that all-important first dinner with her parents!

Balmain t-shirt, $525

I generally try not to list things simply based on price, but honestly, why would you spend more than five hundred dollars on this shirt when you could have this one for a fraction of the cost?

Greg Lauren jacket, $2485

"Dude, seriously, you need to get a new jacket. That thing is embarrassing." "No, it's cool, I just bought this." "You did? What happened to it?" "Nothing happened. It came like this." ". . . Dude, seriously, you need to get a new jacket."

It's Time To Get Things Started

Muppet Show themed nail polish!

My birthday is next week.

Targeted marketing, meet your mark.

Cat On the Hat

For the fashion-forward crazy cat lady:

I say, if you're going to do this, you should go all the way and pair it with these shoes.

A Dating Site Even a Führer Could Love

I'm in a generous mood today, so I'm going to go ahead and assume the principle behind this website is merely another of the seemingly endless stream of increasingly-desperate social networking gimmicks, and not a statement of the belief that relationships only work when they are ethnically pure. Because I guess I can imagine the situation where you have a piece of photo-matching software and want to use it to start a business, and you remember that CSI episode where they said people are attracted to other people who look like them*, and it seems like a really great idea to declare that happy relationships come from people who look alike. And maybe it just never occurs to you to think about what the converse of that statement is: That people who do not look like each other will not be happy in their relationship. And that the world's leading cause of people not looking like each other is being from different ethnic backgrounds. Which is where it starts to get kind of problematic, for me.

On the other hand, if you want to maximize your potential for inbreeding and you don't like any of your cousins, I say go for it.


*It was in the first or second season, I think, the one with the little people.

Coming "Attractions"

Arriving soon on a blog near you*: Ugly Clothes For Rich People, Menswear Edition

Perhaps you do not think men's clothing offers enough scope for an entire blog post mocking its excesses. Perhaps you have not yet seen the three-hundred-dollar swim trunks with eyeballs on them.

They don't even go all the way around the back! If there's one thing I hate,** it's insufficient dedication to insanity.


*This one.
**There's way more than one thing.

Let's Do Some Math!

Drugs - People = Money

Drugs - Money = Huffing Whipped Cream Cans at Safeway

(People - Money + Drugs)*Dignity^-1 = VH1

People - Pictures + Words = Newsweek

People - Words + Pictures = Star

People + People = Hell

Money + Money = Problems + Problems

Money + Money + Money = Must Be Funny In a Rich Man's World

Money + Money + Money + Money = Money!

Socks + Boots + Drugs - Money = These.

Wedding Zombie Will Eat Your Brain

I thought I was safe.

Certainly, I knew I had my vulnerabilities; I had heard its shuffling feet in my brief contemplation of guest favors, and felt its cold fingers when contemplating if it was possible to combine the old/blue somethings into one item. But it wasn't until we completed the budget spreadsheet that the terrible truth became unavoidable:

The Wedding Zombie had gotten my brain.

Wedding Zombie is slow-moving but inexorable. It has no concept of money, knowing only of its relentless desire to feed. And its food is expensive. For example, the food, because the Wedding Zombie knows that even if you have never thrown a party more elaborate than "Super Bowl Potluck," you cannot be allowed to let your guests get away without at least three courses. It is a mindless thing, its consciousness formed by a tightly wound bundle of magazine articles, Barbie outfits, smug criticisms of other weddings you attend, vanities, and "it's just what you have to do."  Nothing is examined, because the Wedding Zombie has no brain of its own. All it knows is that it wants yours.

You may think you can build zombie-proof armor out of good sense and strict budgeting, but Wedding Zombie knows your weaknesses. Because that kevlar vest has a hole right where your latent desire to own one fabulous designer dress is, and there's a fine crack in your goalie helmet that runs along your love of cheese, right up to the point where you fantasize about starting the reception with a personally curated cheese table that everyone will admire. And by the time you even realize the crack is there, it's too late, and the Wedding Zombie is already digging in to your hippocampus.

So what can you do? You can try to make a run to the bunker of elopement, but be aware that you may already be infected with latent spores, which will activate when you least expect them and you will find yourself suddenly compelled, well into your retirement, to stage an elaborate faux-wedding charade, depleting your 401k and confusing your grandchildren because you "didn't get to have a real wedding." Or you can fight back with blasts to the head with the shotgun of reality and enlist someone you trust to know you are too far gone and do the humane thing: Take you out back and cut up your credit cards.

Sunday Dinner: An Adventure in Pictures

Potential new semi-regular feature here, where I demonstrate recipes so foolproof that even I can't screw them up, though not for a lack of trying. Today we're starting with one of my more elaborate attempts: making choucroute garni. Or, as it has come to be known around here, "the big pile of pork" dish. It works as both a hearty dinner and an air freshener, as long as you like your fresh air to smell like cooked pork, amd it's so easy to make that at times it can seem like it would be harder not to make it. Here, then, are the steps:

Step 1:*
Get some potatoes and peel them. I used Yukon golds because I like them as chips.

Step 2:
Cut the potatoes into rough quarters.

Step 3:
Acquire enough cured pork products that you could, if necessary, reconstruct a small pig.

Step 4:
Boil the potatoes.**

Financial Update for Daisy Johny

Dear Daisy Johny,

Just thought you'd like to know that your loan of 20,900 Rs* has gone through, and your EMI amount is 2090 Rs, according to the loan documents that continue to be sent to my email address, despite it not being yours. And thanks a lot, because despite the fact that I have no obligations to someone who treats me like their own personal spam folder, now you've got me feeling kind of bad about going after a person who would take out a loan for $452.58, repayable over eight months. I mean, not bad enough to not actually write this, but still. We really have to stop meeting like this.

Sincerely,
The (now slightly-conflicted) Person Whose Email You Have Been Using



*Indian Rupees. Currently trading at 46.2 rupees to the dollar.

Ugly Clothes For Rich People, Part VII

Surprising Fact: In the time it took me to stop goofing off and write another one of these posts, many of the items I had chosen sold out.

Unsurprising Fact: Most of the remaining items have been deeply discounted, making them less hilariously expensive than they were. But I think we can all agree that we can still find better things to spend a hundred and thirty-eight dollars on. Like 414 packs of pixy sticks.

Costume National dress, $265

Ever have trouble deciding which tablecloth to staple to your bra for your big evening out? Don't choose-- wear them all!

Parah dress, $138

Plausible explanations for this dress:
1. Got torn on the way to the photoshoot, photographer too drunk to notice.
2. Prototype torn up by designer in a fit of rage, hilarious series of mix-ups results in it being sent to the factory for production.
3. Retailer told them to "add a slit," were not specific enough about placement.

Yeolee jumpsuit, $165

Sure, it may look like a couple of old table runners and a shower curtain, but that's just because you don't understand Fashion.

Preen pants, $160

I will only accept these if the panels are interchangeable.

Jil Sander dress, $5980

If you buy this, there is at least a 50% chance you would end up wearing the garment bag by mistake.

Comme des Garcons shorts, $165

How does this happen? How does an item like this make it from conception, though design, prototyping, production, model fittings, runway shows and sales calls without anyone taking one look at it and laughing so hard they choke on their own drool and need to go outside for a bit to recover?

How many drugs are these people on?

Open Letters to Stupid People, Part 2: Daisy Johny, Who Is Applying For a Loan In Charlotte

Honestly, I didn't think this was going to have to be a series.

Dear Daisy Johny Who Is Applying For a Loan In Charlotte,

Did you really think this was a good idea? Do you honestly hate receiving email so much that you would arrange to have your financial information sent to a total stranger, just to keep your inbox pristine? Or are you perhaps just so stupid that when you were typing in the address for where to send your login name and password, you totally forgot to check the spelling?

(By the way, I agreed to the user terms for you. Hope you don't mind. I also set your security question.)

Granted, the bank you chose (Bajaj Finserv) is slightly more attuned to your need for privacy than you are, and they won't give the total stranger you sent your password to total access to all of your personal and financial info, unless she knows your birthdate, which is nice of them. But they did give me your phone number, so I guess I could just call you up and ask.

In short: Seriously. Just accept the occasional email, would you?

Sincerely,
The Person Whose Email Address You Used

p.s. Your loan was approved.

Top Gear's Take Your Car to Work Day

 From the intensely amusing British car show Top Gear (Now on Netflix streaming!), a trip to work in the world's smallest car. I saw this two days ago and it's still making me giggle at random intervals. Particularly at the part where he drives past the newscast.



Astonishing!

You Know How It Is

A couple of the SOBs I have to work with:

What? It's Monday.

What Would You Name Them?

I don't have any faith with my ability with fish tanks-- I can barely keep an african violet alive on my desk. But if I did, and I happened to have $350 lying around and some space in the living room, I would totally get this personal jellyfish tank:



Isn't that amazing? Don't tell me that's not amazing.

Department of Story Ideas: The Meat-Eaters

The Inspiration:
A conversation over lunch during which someone mentioned ongoing efforts to create lab-grown meat. Apparently, it needs to be kept moving by the application of electrical shocks in order to develop properly. You see where I am going with this.

The Story:
As above, with some minor variations. Rather than using muscle cells directly from domestic pigs, the researchers choose a hardier variety of wild boar, genetically crossed with goose for flavor. In addition to the electricity the pieces of meat are given rudimentary nerve systems to increase their mobility and improve their texture and the ability to digest a variety of food sources so that manufacturers can alter the feed according to material prices. Everything is going great, until one night, when the power goes out to the feeding tanks and the meat gets hungry. . .

The Pitch:
It's Jurassic Park meets bacon.

The Tagline:
"Dinner is coming. . . for you!"

Shoesday: For Whom the Belle Ships

Hey, I said I was stocking up.

Acquired: One pair of shiny black Belle by Sigerson Morrison flats, as a guard against the coming flatpocalypse. They'll be perfect once I add the padded heel inserts necessary for my bony mutant heels from trying to chew their way to freedom, and blisters.

Are You Pondering What I'm Pondering?

Science Tip of the Day:

When applied to dry ice, 70% ethanol does not remain liquid.

I does, however, provide you with the means to make the World's Nastiest Snowball.

Science: Providing you with information you can use, but probably shouldn't.

"Fancy": A Revisionist Version

You know how sometimes there's a song you really kind of like, but you can't stand to listen to it because the lyrics are basically about how if you're a poor woman all you're really good for is prostitution? Well, for me, Reba McEntire's "Fancy" is that song. I have to admit, the chorus is very catchy, and she sings it with conviction, but I just can't get past the fact that the story she's telling is basically, "We were poor, so when I was a teenager my mom told me my only chance in life was to sell myself to men, so I did and now everything turned out great." Which doesn't strike me as the most woman-positive message you could send, so I thought I'd try my hand at fixing it up.


Fancy
By Raymond Douglas Davies
(Additional lyrics by Daisy James)


I remember it all very well lookin' back
It was the summer I turned eighteen
We lived in a one room, rundown shack
On the outskirts of New Orleans
We didn't have money for food or rent
To say the least we had no loot
Then Mama spent every last penny we had
To buy me an interview suit

Mama washed and combed and parted my hair
And she told me to stand up straight
Then I stepped into my brand new suit
That was pinstriped and charcoal gray
It was a linen-blend and it fit me good
Standin' back from the lookin' glass
There was a job candidate where a half grown kid had stood

She said here's some nice pants Fancy don't let me down
Here's the number for the jobs board Fancy don't let me down

Mama picked up my new notepad
And she kissed my cheek
Then I saw the tears wellin' up in her troubled eyes
When she started to speak
She looked at a pitiful shack
And then she looked at me and took a ragged breath
She said your Pa's run off and I'm real sick
And the baby's gonna starve to death

She handed me a heart shaped locket that said
Illegitimi non carborundum
And nodded as I threw away
My wad of chewing gum
It sounded like somebody else that was talkin'
Askin' Mama what do I do
She said be nice to the administrative assistants Fancy
And they'll be nice to you

She said here's the classifieds section Fancy don't let me down
Here's your Monster account Fancy don't let me down

Just remember everything I've taught you,
because if you want out
Well it's up to you
Now don't let me down you better start
movin' uptown

Well, that was the last time I saw my Ma
The night I left that rickety shack
The welfare people came and took the baby
Mama died and I ain't been back

But the wheels of fate had started to turn
And for me there wasn't time to lose
And it wasn't very long 'til I was waiting
In a temp agency in my sensible shoes

I knew what I had to do and I made myself this solemn vow
That I's gonna be successful someday
Though I didn't know when or how
I couldn't see spending the rest of my life
Playing a sucker's game
You know, I might have been born just plain white trash
But Fancy was my name

Here's your company dossier Fancy don't let me down
Here's your annual reports Fancy don't let me down

It wasn't long after that I got a job
Filing papers and printing spreadsheets
And one week later I was a permanent employee
In a five room office suite

I worked late, on weekends
Got a night-school MBA
Then I got me a nice apartment
And an off-lease Cabriolet
And I ain't done bad

Now in this world there's a lot of small-minded people
Who'd never think I could achieve
And criticize Mama for telling me
No matter what, always believe

But though I ain't had to worry 'bout nothin'
For nigh on fifteen years
I can still hear the desperation in my poor
Mama's voice ringin' in my ear

She said, here's your one chance Fancy don't let me down
Here's your one chance Fancy don't let me down
Don't let folks tell you, you can't do
'Cause if you want out, well it's up to you
Now don't let me down
Your Mama's gonna send you uptown

Where's Tomato?

There is exactly one fully ripe fruit on this plant. Can you spot it?

Great Moments In Marketing Idiocy

Sometimes you come across a new product that is so apt, so perfect in its service to the market, that you marvel that it hadn't been invented earlier. And sometimes you see an ad for designer patterned maxi pads.

Insane? Yes. But bear in mind, it could be worse.

How About I Just Dislike You Because Your Song is Boring?

Apparently, we're doing pop songs based on irritating eighties advertising catchphrases now:



I can't wait for "Where's the Beef [Dance Remix]"

Shoesday: The Wrong Goodbye

If there is one truth in life, it is that loss is the only constant. So it is with inappropriately maudlin blog post openings, and so also with shoe brands. One of my favorites, Sigerson Morrison (along with its spinoff line, Belle) has just fired its founders/designers/namesakes, and I am moving ahead with the assumption that it will not be the same again. And by "moving ahead" I mean "hoarding examples of the current line like they're sheets of plywood and a hurricane is coming." Which was made easier by the fact that virtually everything on their website is marked down by 70%, though it turns out that the stated availability is somewhat deceptive.*

There are, of course, other shoes in the store. But what I loved about the Sigerson Morrison line was that they could manage to be cool and different without veering off into outright lunacy**, and that is something I suspect they will not be able to maintain under the new corporate management.

On the plus side, I may have a slightly easier time holding on to my money.


*This post was going to go up yesterday, except that I had just started writing it when I learned that the majority of my order would not be shipped to me because they did not actually have those items in stock, despite the fact that they were still listed on the site, and I was too annoyed to feel like writing something praising their style.
**Well, mostly.

Ugly Clothes For Rich People, Part VI

I'll stop when they do.

Preen skirt, $343

"Excuse me, um, I don't want to embarrass you, but I think you've got your skirt caught in your underwear somehow."
"Oh no, it's supposed to be like that. It's fashion."
". . . Oh. Okay."
(Repeat conversation ~12x per day.)

John Galliano jacket, $990

It's a jacket! It's a life vest! It's a dessert topping! It does all of these things equally well!

Etro jacket, $1550

Looks like you bought it at a rummage sale at a church for blind people.

Costume National pants, $175

That isn't where the belt goes.

JC de Castelbajac dress, $390

There's whimsy, and then there's looking like you have dressed up as a sexy luggage tag for Halloween.

Marni shirt, $265

Because really, who hasn't been at the dentist's getting their teeth x-rayed, caught a glimpse of their reflection in the lighting fixture and thought, "My god, I look fabulous!"

Feet?

This is a sign that's posted on the Caltrain shuttle:

And this is the only type of openable window on said shuttle:

I don't know about you, but I really want to see someone try.

Ringing It

I may have already mentioned this to a couple of you*, but I recently got engaged. To Cameron, who is a lovely person and we're very happy and blah, blah, you're not interested in that. You want to see the hardware. And I am happy to oblige:

(not a professional hand model)

Not exactly visible from space, but I like them.

As a matter of fact, the rings belonged to my grandmother, and we had been planning to have the stones reset into something new. But when I tried them on and they fit, it just seemed silly to spend a bunch of money to turn one perfectly nice ring into another, so I'm just going with them as-is. After all, they did pretty well the last time around.


*Ha!
**I also want to tell you not to worry, this is not about to become a wedding blog, those things make me want to claw my own eyes out.

Shoesday: Gap Junctions

I don't know what happened with me and The Gap. For most of my teenage years and well into my twenties they provided the majority of my wardrobe. Eventually, I did transition somewhat to Banana Republic (my brief foray into the goods from Old Navy is best left undiscussed), but then, like a friend who moved away and got really into mid-nineteenth century nose-flute music, we lost touch and I don't really know who they are any more.* So it was fun, in a drunken-class-reunion sort of way, to come across these shoes from there and discover I liked them. Granted, they were part of a designer collaboration and a little more expensive than my last Gap shoe purchase, but I think they were worth it, if only for the late-nineties nostalgia and velcro straps.



*Except I still buy underwear there.

They're Coming

Looks like I'm going to have some cherry tomatoes after all.

More than a few, actually.

I admit, they have a ways to go.

And could probably use some warm weather.

But I feel like this is a good start.

I probably should have gotten around to staking them, though.

An Open Letter to Daisy Jimenez of 8310 Dahlia Ave, Tampa FL 33619-7434

Dear Daisy Jimenez of 8310 Dahlia Ave, Tampa FL 33619-7434,

I know it isn't a lot of fun getting emails you don't want in your inbox. I particularly know this, Daisy Jimenez of 8310 Dahlia Ave, Tampa FL 33619-7434, because I am actually getting all the emails you don't want in your inbox, in my inbox, because you have been habitually using my email address whenever you sign up for something. I do not appreciate this, Daisy Jimenez of 8310 Dahlia Ave, Tampa FL 33619-7434, not the OKCupid membership, or the realtors sending me information about South Florida housing prices, or even your TurboTax filing information. Now, Daisy Jimenez of 8310 Dahlia Ave, Tampa FL 33619-7434, that last one was actually not such a great idea, not only because they helpfully sent me your full name and address:

But also because it means you are not getting important information, like the fact that your Federal return has been rejected by the IRS because your Social Security number cannot be used more than once in the return or on another return (R0000-515) and the 'Primary Prior Year AGI' or 'Primary Prior Year PIN' must match the IRS Master File (F1040-679-01). Therefore, Daisy Jimenez of 8310 Dahlia Ave, Tampa FL 33619-7434, I would suggest you rethink this policy in the future, and maybe get yourself a second email address that is actually your own for just this purpose. Then we'll all be happy.

Sincerely,
The Person Whose Email Address You Have Been Using

So You Think Finland Can Dance

Do not ask why I was searching for "Finnish Tango" on YouTube in the middle of the day. Just enjoy this video about the hairstyles and leisure activities of the mid-eighties in Finland, and appreciate this quote from the intro:

“. . .A country where gloom is pervasive. Melancholy, sorrow and shyness abound. All this, though, is alleviated by a massive intake of alcohol.”

Anybody Having a Garden Party?

I don't know many things, but I do know this: Before this summer is over I will find an excuse to wear my new hat.

Ugly Clothes For Rich People Part V

Summer Edition!

See by Chloe shorts, $175

Do you really want to take Cheetos-era Britney as your fashion role model?

Rodarte for Opening Ceremony shorts, $764

I'm pretty sure these are lederhosen. I'm entirely sure they're stupid.

Costume National dress, $350

It's a dress! It's a bikini! It's neither!

Moschino dress, $1690

If they mated: a decorative toilet seat cover and the curtains at Applebee's.

Comme des Garcons dress, $425

Perfect for spending a relaxing day at the beach getting dragged out of the surf by fishermen and thrown back because you're not in season.

Watch Out For Frogs*

When we last spoke** I mentioned that I was back from Vegas, and then vanished again. Not, as you might imagine, to sleep off the hangover, but to head up the coast for a relaxing long weekend in Bodega Bay, a place with no showgirls at all. It was a lovely trip that was exciting for several reasons, but I'm going to talk about the frogs.

We were staying at my family's vacation place***, which we call the Barn because that's what it is. But there's a shower and a microwave and a wood stove and stuff, and lots of books and it all quite nice as long as you don't mind a bit of nature in your days.

Also, under your phone. But we'll get to that in a minute.

I guess you really can't blame the frogs for moving in. For much of the time the Barn is dark and quiet, with a pretty good supply of things that frogs eat and a total dearth of things that eat frogs. I'd come across one on a previous trip, living in the toilet tank, which inspired me to try and coin the euphemism "Excuse me while I go talk to the frog." It didn't catch on.

So it wasn't a total shock when I went to look for the password for the wifi and found two frogs living under the modem. And another, slightly larger one tucked in a nook under the phone. But it was definitely a surprise.

There were three in the bathroom; not immediately evident but almost always around. It was an amphibian Where's Waldo, only with fewer people in medieval costumes falling off ladders and more hand towels.

One thing I decided is that being a frog must be pretty boring, because they seemed to take to the fact that they had an audience with enthusiasm. The game seemed to be to see who could come up with the best place to be hiding when I came across them, with some points for dropping off the top of the medicine cabinet when I opened it and perching on the shampoo first thing in the morning and a nearly game-winning play that involved climbing into my toiletries bag when I took it into the bathroom at night and waiting there until I went to get my deodorant in the morning. But the honors went to the player who hid in the sink drain until I came to wash my hands, and looking at me accusingly through the soap suds.****

It was like a frog vaudeville in there.




*Fifty nerd points to anyone who gets that reference.
**Blogged, whatever.
***"Cottage" in Canadian.
****Handy fact: Mrs. Meyer's Clean Day hand soap is apparently non-toxic to frogs. They should put that on the label.

Meanwhile. . .

In Vegas, I tried on but did not buy these shoes. I also did not have my wallet stolen, which was quite a relief.

Details to follow.