Tim Gunn's Guide to Polygamist Style: "Let's redefine the prairie dress. Lets get this some style. Let's give it some chicness. And let's help these women look great!" And yes, in case you were wondering about those shoes—he totally recommends "a cute little ballet flat, in a metallic." Thank you for this, Mo Rocca.
Results tagged “fashion” from cheesedip.com
From Long Live the Dress (for Now), by Guy Trebay:
Anyone who pays attention to fashion may want to know that those in charge of deciding these things have pronounced doom on the dress.They, meaning mainly fashion editors and designers, claim the dress is dead. Kaput. Three years of women in dresses is enough.
Of course, anyone who pays attention to fashion knows that it's run mainly by gay men and women-hating women—most of whom don't give an honest shit that women actually like wearing dresses because they're easy to wear and oh-so-flattering. Or, you know, that straight men love seeing us in dresses. So fuck the fashion industry and fuck the "full-legged, pleated high- and low-waisted" pants they want us to wear in the fall; my dress-wearing compatriots, let's keep on keepin' on.
One perk of being in a polygamous cult: great hair. The Guardian made me laugh today! [ via Amy's Robot ]
Cintra Wilson has a fun piece on Salon right now about her first time covering New York Fashion Week (which I think she is actually at on behalf of the NYT as their Critical Shopper):
So I ventured backstage to ask irrelevant questions of the designers and ogle the gorgeous little girls with their hair in curlers: 8-foot-tall high school girls with the bones of model airplanes and the faces of 8-year-old children. Their thighs are the same width as their ankles; their arms no bigger around than a silver dollar. A model named Carly, age 15, quickly became my favorite—an entirely sweet, corn-fed child. She is becoming famous on the runway for jutting out her tiny hips, leaning her shoulder blades to curve at a 30-degree angle over her 6-inch heels, stupefying her already bewildered expression into "someone slipped a Darvon in my Mountain Dew" and stomping down the catwalk looking like a zombie Slovakian sex slave.
Pretty sure the model she refers to is Karlie Kloss, whose signature walk Amy Odell of New York Magazine describes as featuring "a kind of stoned death stare; she moves in slow motion, swaying her head from side to side in such a way that if laser beams were to suddenly shoot out of her eyes—and we suspect they might any minute now—she would obliterate everyone in the first two rows." Apparently Tyra Banks does not approve of her walk, which you know, makes me kind of really love it without even having seen it.
"Getting a shoe compliment from a woman is like having Bobby Flay come up to you at a party and tell you your seven-layer dip was incredible, like having Whitney Houston (pre-crack, of course) duck her head into your car window at a stoplight and tell you that she overheard you belting out "I Will Always Love You" and that you've really got something there, like having Mario Testino tap you on the shoulder when you're posing for Myspace self-portraits in front of your bathroom mirror and saying "You've got a good eye, kid."
Manila Style. Inspired by the Face Hunter and the Sartorialist, my designer/writer friend Cecile has started a blog to "chronicle Manila style, or what we fondly refer to as Third World fashion."
