If Blair Waldorf is the national hero of Grace Country, then Leighton Meester is my queen. I can’t decide if I love her more as Blair or as herself, but I know this – the girl has some seriously amazing taste. Check her out in Louis Vuitton at the Costume Institute’s “Model as Muse” Gala:
Photo: www.style.com
Photo: www.style.com
Oh Leighton. First I want to give you a big hug for being so wonderful, and then I want to push you aside to raid your closet.
I hit the PeepToe sale in Paddington with my friend Leanne last weekend. We thought getting there at 8:30am was early, but apparently not, because we were beat out by at least 300 girls with nothing better to do on a Saturday morning than stand on an empty stretch of sidewalk for hours. The girls at the front of the line had been there since 6:30am and were pretty well acquainted with two bouncers who guarded the door.
We waited in line for almost two hours. Exciting highlights of the wait included: a girl busting out of the line to puke on the grass behind a stone wall (I guess the anticipation was too much for her); a girl in a navy blue Honda rear-ending an old white Mitsubishi (the guy didn’t even notice and drove off, his car completely intact, but the nose of the poor girl’s car was squashed); a group of seven girls and their leopard-print lycra clad mom who sidled up next to us in line and tried to get in front of us. (Leanne shut them down with one of her patented ninja death stares and they fell back pretty quickly. Don’t mess with Leanne, because she’ll totally fuck you up).
Anyway, when we got to the front of the line, after standing FOR AGES in the sun (and people, I cannot stress to you enough how crappy it is to stand in the hot, Australian, albeit winter, sun when you have dark hair. I’d be rich if they could think of ways to harness the heat that gets absorbed into my head and use it for good. Or evil. Usually you make more money out of evil, right?), the bouncer cut the next group to enter right behind us, which meant Budgey Mcbudger and the Budgertons had to wait at least another half hour to get in. HA.
The hall inside was massive, and crammed with rows and rows of black and white striped boxes. Besides the sound of Britney Spears’ Circus pumping through the speakers, and the occasional scream of “MINE!”, everyone was remarkably quiet and focused, digging through boxes as the poor staff ran around behind us trying to stop complete anarchy from taking hold. I was so happy to be inside that I really had to struggle with the urge to frolic around the room, but I managed to pull myself together, headed over to the row marked “size 38” and started grabbing boxes.
Some of what they had on offer screamed “drag queen” and “stripper” what with the crazy-ho platforms, glitzy rhinestones and 10 inch heels (I suppose there’s a good reason why certain things go on sale), but I managed to dig up some amazing little gold heels which I’ll be wearing to my friend’s wedding in September. They’re called “Miss Garnet” and we had a little cuddle when I got home.
My friends, it's time once again to sharpen your elbows, put on your determined face and don your most comfortable slip on shoes to run to the Peeptoe Shoes warehouse sale. This time they've cleverly opted to move the sale from the tiny location in Alexandria and put it in the Paddington Town Hall. More room for queuing for hours, marching around testing the samples and pushing people out of the way to grab your size. I recommend arriving early to beat out all those other well shod bitches.
Here are the deets:
The date: Saturday 15th August, 2009 until Sunday 16th August, 2009
The place: Paddington Town Hall, Corner Oxford St & Oatley Rd
The time: Sat 9am – 5:30pm, Sun 10am – 5:30pm
The funds: Cash, Eftpos, Major Credit Cards – No Amex or Diners
You can do some research on sale items here:
http://www.peeptoeshoes.com.au/category/sale?main_collection_page=all
Have fun doing your part to prop up the economy!
“I love a woman to look like a boy during the day, and be a sex bitch at night.”
So said Hussein Chalayan during a style.com interview about his new collaboration with J Brand denim. Chalayan talks about jeans being a woman’s wild card, a wardrobe staple that can take you from daytime to evening, something you can pull on with a pair of heels that will make you look and feel fabulous, even when you feel more like a bitch than a sex bitch.
The right jeans can be magic. They lift, they tuck, they disguise. They’re plastic surgery without the knife and the $10,000 price tag. Their beauty is in the thickness of the fabric, the sometimes added stretch, the wash and strategically leg-slimmingly faded and distressed fabric.
So why now, when we have this relatively inexpensive tool to make us look and feel better, are women suddenly embracing the scourge of the leggings jeans? If you don’t know what I’m talking about, simply have a quick look in the window of Supre on George St. or online at TopShop, or in just about any trendy high street store. You’ll see them there in all their icky glory, the cheap textured-to-look-like denim stretch fabric painted on the legs of mannequins, the gold stitching down the seams glittering in the window spotlights. Other features include faux pockets, pointless belt loops and flies with no zippers.
You’ll also see them walking down the street, tucked into boots for winter, under tunic tops and horrifyingly, worn with short tight tops. This season I have seen enough asses straining to be free of the too-small, too-tight leggings jeans that I’ve developed a twitch in my left eye. I’ve seen skin showing through the thin fabric, I’ve seen floral underpants and, shock! horror! etc! I’ve even seen g-strings. If you take nothing else away from reading this, perhaps we could all learn to take a cursory glance at our backsides in the mirror to make sure we’re not going to step out of the house and assault the eyes of strangers with too much ass. And ladies, any public butt sightings constitute too much ass.
If I haven’t convinced you yet, I have two words: knee cellulite. Leggings jeans are a great equaliser in that they make almost everyone who wears them look like she has knee cellulite, whether she actually has it or not. There’s something about the way light hits the stretch fabric that makes leggings jeans emphasise existing and even manufacture new flaws.
I call for a good old fashioned prohibition against leggings jeans. This trend was belched straight up from the guts of hell, and it’s best we avert our eyes until it’s over, lest we all turn to stone or something.
