Over the past couple of days of watching the Milan shows, I’ve noticed a trend emerging. I’ve seen about half-a-dozen white overalls/apron-style garments masquerading as high fashion. As practical as I am, I can’t help but thinking that it would be prudent to purchase a butcher’s apron instead of investing in this sure-to-be-short-lived trend. Pair it with some sassy culottes and take it out for a night on the town.
Remember, I’m always here when you need fashion advice . . .
Happy birthday, Stephanie Seymour. I remember when this cover came out. I suppose that means you’re old, too . . .
Happy birthday, Louise Mandrell. I swear that I could make a list of the one-hundred greatest hairstyles of all-time only using photos of you and your sisters. You’re an inspiration to us all!
I was just looking at the calendar and realized that I’ll be fifty-years-old in six months. I already take decent care of myself, but I suppose I should do more before everything falls apart (like it has for the rest of you). Anyway, I was going to yoga quite often last year, but then I tripped over a stump in my garden, tearing a hamstring muscle. It didn’t stop me from working out or doing yoga on my own, but it did keep me from going to classes because I felt as if I wasn’t performing. I know that’s not what you’re supposed to be thinking about in yoga classes, but that’s how I think. Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful: hate me because I’m vain.
My hamstring is almost fully-recovered, so I’m going to go to a drop-in yoga class this afternoon. I need to something else to fixate on besides clothes. I can’t stop shopping lately. After telling myself that I don’t need anything else, just this past month I bought a Tumi backpack, a Versace denim shirt, six pairs of Missoni socks, a Theory shirt, a Levis bomber jacket, some Brooks Brothers pants, and probably some other stuff that I’m not remembering at the moment. It’s like I’m having a midlife crisis, and because I don’t want to buy a Porsche like my bald brother, I’m spending my money on fancy clothes instead.
I need to worry more about what’s going on underneath my clothes (according to Shakira, there’s an endless story there). Maybe I’ll get a tattoo. I need to do something. I guess I’ll start with the one-handed, upside-down tree pose and see where that goes . . .
Okay, I’m the world’s worst blogger.
That’s not really true because I did keep up a couple of sites for years and years. Nevertheless, I haven’t updated this site for ages. That’s about to change. I’m going to get back to the things I do best, like cracking terrible jokes. I’m going to try to resurrect the features of my previous blogs that I enjoyed writing, like the daily birthday shout-outs and the “Three Word Runway Reviews.” I also wanted to discuss astrology, my beloved reality shows and other things that fascinate me, including myself. I am so fascinating, after all.
Anyway, it’s a good day day for a fresh start. I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet and I’m already feeling fresh. Maybe I won’t bother . . .
Okay, I admit that I’ve been the world’s worst blogger. However, now that the weather has taken a turn for the worse, maybe I’ll start writing again. Living where I live, I’m going to be spending a lot of time indoors for the next five months or so.
Anyway, I was just poking around some archival files on my computer when I discovered an article that I tried to sell to a local newspaper a few years ago. It’s just as relevant today as it was the day I wrote it. My apologies to the people who I interviewed in the event that they’ve changed their minds about providing me with their quotes. Too late!
Winter’s Worst Trend
As a fashion writer, I need to be a bit of snob. The fashion business is a hierarchy of uppity attitudes and to be considered an expert in the field I must perpetuate the belief that I implicitly know the difference between good taste and bad taste. Nevertheless, I usually don’t go out of my way to point out the foibles of others and I rarely get worked up over the so-called rules of style.
Since the arrival of winter, however, I’ve been mortified by a fashion faux pas that makes wiping your nose on your sleeve seem like a desirable alternative. People aren’t removing the removable tags from the winter coats they’re wearing.
The sleeve tags are there for a couple of reasons. In a retail store, removing a heavy winter coat from a hanger to read the interior labels can be awkward. Tags are sewn onto the sleeves of outerwear to allow a shopper to readily identify both brand and fabric content. On garments like men’s suit jackets, the sleeve tag helps differentiate between items that can appear similar when they are sandwiched together on the racks. But should those tags stay on the sleeves after the coat has left the store?
“The label on the sleeve of some winter coats is not meant to stay on. Which is why it’s usually just basted on and is easily removed,” claims Ceri Marsh, editor-in-chief of “FASHION Magazine” and the author of “The Fabulous Girl’s Guide to Decorum” (with Kim Izzo). “Nobody needs to know what your coat is made of — be it cashmere, alpaca or wool. It would be helpful if sales people found a diplomatic way of telling people to remove them.”
Apparently, the sales staff in finer stores do try to instruct the customers to remove the tags. Some stores even go further to assist their clientele. “We remove the tags before the clothes leave the store,” maintains Shiraz Allibhai, manager of Harry Rosen in West Edmonton Mall. And if the customer questions the practice, Allibhai adds “We educate them that that’s really not the way to wear the garment.”
But could there be an ulterior motive for wearing a label on your sleeve? Are some people so eager to broadcast the fact that they’re wearing a cashmere blend that they would leave the tags on intentionally? Probably not — the fabric isn’t that important — yet the name on the label often trumps the rules of decorum for those who know better, claims Allibhai. “The status of the designer label is very important. Some people actually request that it remains on.” Still, he insists that the tags are “always taken off.”
Unfortunately, not everyone shops in stores where the staff are so eager to educate their clientele — or even to do the work for them. In that case, removing the tags isn’t a big deal. “For those not in a possession of a seam ripper, nail scissors will do the trick” adds Marsh.
And that’s all it takes to go from gauche to gorgeous – unless you’re still wiping your nose on your sleeve. And if that’s the case, then you’ve got more to worry about than the tags on your coat.
I was just sorting through my memories of my trips to Vegas and I realized that my last couple of posts incorrectly blurred two of my trips together. Now I realize that I saw “Viva Elvis” the same time I stayed at the Signature. When I stayed at Mandalay Bay I saw “Dancing with the Stars Live” and “Zarkana” — or at least I think I did.
So if I’m correct, on my sixteenth trip I stayed at the MGM Grand with Tracy and Roland. I know that we saw “Love” at the Mirage and “Peepshow” at Planet Hollywood. That’s got to be right. You know you’ve been too many times when it all blurs into one! Of course, I didn’t see Tyra Banks in the audience at the show. If I had, it would have been etched into my mind like deep scar in my cerebellum (and I mean that in the nicest possible way).
I suppose that I have a handle on this now. This definitely was my sixteenth trip. We visited the Las Vegas Premium Outlets South where Roland lost his phone and it took two hours to find it. Karen turned fifty while we were there and Tracy sent her the most beautiful flower arrangement. My luck was bad, but it wasn’t as horrible as the previous trip. And I’m sure that this was the trip that Tracy and Roland decided to stay an extra day because they didn’t feel like going home.
It’s all coming together. By the time I leave on Saturday I’ll have figured out exactly how many times I’ve been there.
Considering how much I love Elvis, it’s surprising that it took me fifteen visits before I made a pilgrimage to anything inspired by Elvis in Las Vegas. But, on my fifteenth trip, I saw “Viva Elvis” at the Aria. Of all the Cirque du Soliel shows I’ve seen, it’s been my favorite. The guys in the photo above performed the best act. The walls and floors were all trampolines and they bounced around in ways that I can’t even describe.
It’s funny that this show didn’t last all that long. It was less-serious and less-poetic than most of Cirque du Soliel’s offerings (except maybe for “Zumanity“), and that’s probably why I liked it so much. It’s probably the same reason why I laugh out loud during the “contemporary” routines on “So You Think You Can Dance” while cheering on the jazz hands. I like emotion to be elicited naturally and not spoon-fed to me by someone who believes that they’re more sensitive than me.
But I digress! It was springtime and I booked with my sister Karen at Mandalay Bay. It was my first time staying there. Tracy and Roland booked at the adjoining THEhotel. Everything about the hotel was terrific except for my luck. We were assigned room #3333 which seemed like an obvious sign from the heavens that we were going to be lucky, I know, right? Of course, we weren’t. I couldn’t win to save my life. Then I couldn’t figure out how to get money out of my bank account. I didn’t realize that I needed to use my bank card to take a cash advance on my credit card. That was awkward.
Anyway, the whole resort was beautiful and I’d stay there again in a minute. The way it connects with the other MGM resorts nearby is nice. You can either ride the tram to Luxor and Excalibur or walk through the tunnel to Luxor. There’s a coffee place called the Orchid Cafe right at the bottom of the elevator bank for when you’re dying for caffeine first thing in the morning. The Border Grill is delicious and the House of Blues was wonderful for breakfast. I think that this was the time we saw “Dancing with the Stars Live” at the Tropicana, too. It was good, cheesy fun. Not Charo fun, but fun nonetheless.
THEhotel has just reopened as The Delano. I think I might stay there next time. I’m sure that my Mlife card will be upgraded to Platinum status by the end of this week, so I figure that I can go on the cheap for my birthday in January. I’d better get through this upcoming trip first. Five days to go!
I was supposed to spend my fourteenth trip to Las Vegas with my friends Tracy and Roland, but Tracy’s mother had been sick for some time and her health took a turn for the worse and she decided to stay at home. Tracy had already purchased tickets for us to see Elton John at Caesars, so she sent them to me in the mail.
I went down with my sister again. We stayed at the Signature at the back of the MGM Grand. The hotel is beautiful but quite far away from the casino. We took the afternoon flight and got there in the evening. I barely lost any money the first night because I found a slot machine that just wouldn’t lose.
The next morning I parked my ass at the same machine. Not long after, I won $1600.00 on a forty-cent bet. There’s nothing better than winning a bunch of money at the beginning of a Vegas vacation. The pressure to adhere to my budget was off!
For that reason, it was a wonderful trip. It would have been nicer to go with friends, but if I had to choose between Tracy and Roland or a big slot jackpot, I’d probably choose the latter — I’m kidding!
The most interesting thing about this trip was how grouchy people were everywhere I went. I figured that I would just give away the Elton John tickets to someone I met in the casino, but I didn’t meet anyone. Finally, a nice couple from Minnesota stopped to talk to me in the hallway to the Signature and I gave them the tickets. They really couldn’t believe that some random stranger was doing something so nice for them. That’s me, though: I live to give. Especially when Tracy has already paid for what I’m giving away.
I guess I only have a few more trips to reminisce over before it’s time to go again — not that I’m counting. Oh, who am I fooling? I’m always counting.
My thirteenth trip to Las Vegas was the start of a new tradition. For years and years, I had been on my friend Tracy’s back to plan a trip to Sin City. Finally, we decided to meet up for her birthday (this is a different Tracy than the other Tracy I accompanied on another birthday trip).
My sister Karen joined us. We were all going to book at the Encore, but the hotel wasn’t going to guarantee us a room with two queen beds. So Tracy and her significant other, Roland, booked the Encore and Karen and I booked at Treasure Island — just because it was relatively close to the resort.
This was probably 2010. Treasure Island was fine. It’s no Wynn resort since it was sold, but there was nothing wrong with the rooms. I had a friend who visited the hotel last week and she told me that the casino could use some work, but that’s not a big deal. I play at the Flamingo all the time and it’s more in need of a refresh than any other big resort on the Strip. The Encore, on the other hand, was divine. Wow, those hotels are something else! If it wasn’t for my current relationship with Mlife, I’d book there in a minute.
Highlights of the trip included a visit to Cafe Society at the Encore. While I’m pretty easy to please in most breakfast joints, the environment of a restaurant like this is not lost on me. We stuck to the north end of the strip mostly because that’s where we were staying. We made it as far south as the Aria on the west side of the road, and only as far as the Flamingo on the east.
This was probably my unluckiest trip — number thirteen, go figure! Tracy would get on a good run every now and then, though. She even felt sorry for me and split some winnings with me when I was near rock-bottom. I’m still waiting for the day I need to return the favor. I don’t believe that Karen and I went to any shows, but Tracy and Roland saw Le Rêve.
The best part of this trip, though, was finally introducing Tracy and Roland to Vegas. Now we go all the time! They’re the best people to travel with because they like to do all the same things that I like to do. They don’t complain and they don’t need to be accompanied 24/7. I’m going with them again in five weeks. I can’t wait!
I'm So Fascinating . . . 
