briddy-b

I can watch the sunset on my own.

2008-01-24T21:50:08Z

Thanks for all the kind words, guys. I really miss writing. And I'm moving to London by the skin of my teeth.

So, to celebrate I am also moving blogs. I am now here.

So literal.

Love It or Hate It?

2006-12-12T20:03:23Z

The hooded dress. Is it...
a) A sleek and useful fashion concept. You're dressed up but don't have to wash your hair!
b) Omigod! Your dress is eating you! (And boy is it still gonna be hungry when it's done..)
c) Cult-tastic!
d) I'm wearing that now, you snob.
e) Totally weird. This feature sucks, too.

Love It or Hate It?

2006-11-21T20:32:20Z

Trying out a new feature...

Love It or Hate It?

As seen at Missoni.

I can't decide if it's nice for a bad or dirty hair day or if it just looks exactly like that - like you put your nasty ball of hair in a scarf and now have a weird lump at the nape of your neck. Also, I can't imagine how awful it would look for those with thin hair. What do you think?

Everybody wants it until it is for sale.

2006-10-12T15:15:57Z

Remember when, about a year after the fact, the Times announced that knitting circles were the new book clubs? How girls from Williamsburg to Astoria giggled uncomfortably, their necks swathed in homespun woolen goodness, and everyone was like, Duh?

How New York remains the epicenter of American fashion is a mystery to me when we have a paper like the Times. While we’re still choking our ankles with zippered skinny jeans, the Brits have moved onto grungy trouser jeans. Carine Roitfeld must get a kick out of the Thursday and Sunday Styles editions, particularly when the paper announces that black footless tights are a “fresh approach to layering”.

Now, I will not fault anyone for wearing them – I prefer actual leggings under a skirt or dress myself – but I can fault the Style section for trying to pawn this off as new, when girls were frolicking through the spring and, inexplicably, sweating through the summer with said tights.

And today, we have this. Apparently, black nail polish is the new French manicure.

Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. Me.

You know what I say?

The French manicure is the new black nail polish. So there.

Pssst. Sunday Styles? Call me! Let’s have a chat before you send the weekend edition to the presses.

Call me Miss Cleo.

2006-10-10T13:51:13Z

I look into my crystal ball and I see the band of the future. Hands down, best show I've ever been to. Ever, ever. Glam rock. Hot makeup. Glowsticks and kazoos. Falsetto. Fuckin' guns (ok, no...but it's my new catchphrase). Rock.

(Take my advice and listen from the bottom up.)

You can call the goddamn fire department.

2006-10-06T20:17:52Z

On why you should never let someone talk you into crawling out of bed around midnight and going to a hipster bar with wall-to-wall bodies to hear a band that sucks. On why you should always wear makeup, even if you're thinking, Hey, it will be dark in there. Why do I need bronzer and blush? On why you should never brag about your shooting abilities or the fact that you have your marksman certification, particularly not while on the Lower East Side. On why you should never fib about your age, even by a year, because on film, it will be clear that you're a big fat liar. On why you should always smile in photos, lest you look like some smug New York bitch.

Beware, you have been warned. This could be you. (Scroll down.)

How to start your own life.

2006-09-19T21:46:36Z

I’m reading this book called Start Your Own Clothing Store. I’m reading it at work. I don’t really bother to hide it when people come into my office, not that people really come into my office. Today, I slumped in my seat for like thirty minutes and no one saw me. It was the closest I could get to sleeping without actually putting my body flat on the floor and closing my eyes.

Typically, I ensure that my desk is strewn with paperwork – invoices, faxes, shit like that – and then I just wait it out. I set markers for time: at one, I will eat lunch. At one-eighteen, I will go to the bathroom. At two-twelve, I will go fax exactly two pieces of paper. At three-twelve, I will go check to ensure the fax has gone through.

In the meantime, I read the book and mark pages. It is full of warnings:
Just because you like fashion, doesn’t mean you should have a clothing store!
You can’t do this without serious financial backing – don’t even fool yourself and think you can! You can’t! Really!
If you can’t recognize these initials, fashion might not be for you(!):
AK, TM, YSL, TH, TM, AW, ON…OMFG…SOS.

And I’m like, Anne Klein, Yves Saint Laurent, Tommy Hilfiger, Thierry Mugler, Anna Wintour, Old Navy, …God, somebody shoot me, this is so dreadfully boring.

So far, the part of the book I like the best (I’m on page thirteen), is the part that basically says, Bitch, you better work! As in, if you want it, you better look like you want it, so no flared jeans circa 1996 or old college hoodie when you’re running to the deli.

No problem there. I’m saving up for the Temperley for Moet & Chandon tiara. I don’t even own flared jeans or a hoodie. So I can skip this chapter, right?

--

So, about that tiara…
…No, I’m not really saving up for it.
But wouldn’t it be cool? (And by cool, I mean ostentatious. And glorious.)

--

I’m in a vintage store on Saturday when I see a coat so passionately constructed that my eyes well up with tears as I finger the silk leg of mutton sleeves. The pumpkin silk is delicately hand-dipped in a faint olive green dye, resulting in globular shapes that look like dandelion clocks, and the balloon hem appears to be exhaling. Big carved black buttons dot the front. The salesclerk comes over and says, Isn’t that different?
I look at her, almost offended by her slapdash description, and say, Different? It’s breathtaking.
Confused, she says, Mmmhmm.
I’m sorry, it’s making me emotional, I reply. I’m so silly!
Try it on, she says.
Although it is well within my price range, I smile and say, Were I a different person, I would own it.

--

I’ve decided I’m bringing back the stickpin.

It's only ironic if you lose.

2006-08-18T19:40:41Z

There's a game that women play at wedding and baby showers called the Memory Tray. It's probably the stupidest game in creation. There's a bunch of items on a covered tray - a playing card, a thimble, scissors, a lipstick, knick-knacks basically (sometimes the items are thematic, like a baby shower would use a diaper pin, a pacifier, the condom you should have used...) - and when the announcer says GO, the women are to uncover the tray with vigor and stare at the items for ten seconds or so. Then the tray is removed and the participants have to either make a list of the items they saw or, in harder circles, draw the tray with each item in its proper location.

Anyway, I sort of want to play an urban, hipster version of that game with (WAIT, don't click on it until I say so!) this photo.

Ok, so here's the game:

When I say GO, click on the photo and look at the picture (it's safe for work, no worries) and count to ten. You get ten glorious hipster seconds. Then click back and answer the questions. Do not cheat by looking at the questions below.

Ready?

GO.

1...

2...

3...

4... (crack open a Sparks if you're thirsty)

5...

6...

7... (roll your eyes at how dumb this is but secretly love the irony of a game for breeders - yes, I said breeders, deal with it - being played by hipsters)

8...

9... (consider making a maternity wear line called Hipster Breeder)

10!

Ok, see how many of these you can get right without clicking back to the photo.

1) How many girls are in the photo?
2) How many legs are in the photo? (if you get #1 correct and this question wrong, you probably are one of these girls)
3) How many girls are standing pigeon-toed? (Bonus points if you can answer why are they standing pigeon-toed.)
4) At which subway station was this photo taken and why is this ironic?
5) Which girl did not get the memo? You know which memo and she just did not get it.
6) ______ is the new black.
7) What is the girl on the far right looking at?
8) How many of these girls had sex with the photographer?
9) Skinny legs : hipster chicks :: ______ : cocaine
10)How many girls are not smiling and thus in accordance with the laws set forth by hipster photo websites? How many girls are smiling and should be barred from any party thrown or promoted by Ultragrrl, Leigh Lezark, Junior Sanchez, Mike Nouveau, or FightCats because of said smile?
11) Who has the foggiest idea what I’m talking about?

Special edition.

2006-08-10T17:04:48Z

Overheard in Colorado.

At the dinner table.
Old high school friend: Did you hear about Jimmy R___?
Me: No, what?
Old high school friend: He died. Drunk in a hot tub. Drowned. What an idiot.
Me: Are you sure?
Old high school friend: Yeah, like five years ago.
Me: Um, I’m pretty sure you’re wrong. I saw him on MySpace. And unless his hot tub-scorched soul is logging in and changing his photo every week to show off his developing abs, he’s alive and well.

In the shoe department at Nordstroms.
Salesman to Denver-ish girl: Ok ma’am, you’re all set. And we went ahead and sprayed these boots with the Ugg protector…

At Village Inn.
Brother: I’ll have the Buffalo Chicken Sandwich with french fries. And a side of whole wheat toast.
Me: That’s a lot of carbs.
Brother: Like your big ass skillet and pancakes?
Me: Shut up, it comes with pancakes. Ordering separately is just piggy.

At Boss Unlimited.
Me: So, how is that vintage store, Flossy McGrew’s? I haven’t been there in years.
Saleslady: Oh no, you don’t want to go there. I heard the old lady that runs it is so creepy and she sleeps in a coffin!
Me: Um, in telling me that, are you trying to talk me out of going? Because now you need to give me directions how to get there.

At Flossy McGrew’s.
Me: Do you have jumpsuits?
Coffin Lady: Prison suits or Haz Mat suits? Past the Bo-Peep costumes, on the right.
Me: No, like vintage Liz Claiborne safari jumpsuits?
Coffin Lady: Yeah, there’s one of those back there too.

At the dinner table (redux).
Brother: Not to be gross, but is there something wrong with the dog’s penis?
Me: Ew, I don’t know.
Father: What?
Me: He said there’s something wrong with the dog’s penis. Like I would know.
Father: Well, aren’t you the expert?

At the scene of the accident.
Detective: Ma’am, where were you earlier this evening?
Me: Uh…La…something?
Detective: What?
Me: I dunno. La Rum...uh…
Detective: WHAT?
Me: I think it’s spelled…R – H – U – M…wait, I called 411 for this. R – U – M…
Detective: Go sit back on the curb.

In my sister’s bedroom (pre-incident).
Sister: All I care about is that the man I marry is faithful.
Me: Uh, good luck with that.
Sister: And can give me an orgasm.
Me: Yeah, good luck with that too.
Sister: Well then he just has to be able to do taxes, ‘cause I don’t know how.

More, more, more.

2006-08-07T21:57:37Z

I am going to start a shopping/style blog, but I’m trying to sort out how I want it to feel and look. In the meantime, I’m distracting myself here. I’m also working on an entry about going to Colorado, the accident, everything, but the truth is that right now, I just don’t want to talk about it.

Thus, more pretty things…

--

The infamous ~~fannypack~~ beltbag, black elastic and hard-sided mustard leather. I used it to keep a pack of New Kids on the Block trading cards from getting smooshed in my suitcase (the cards were promptly gifted to Laura). Boss Unlimited, Denver. $11.

Marni-esque necklace, attached to antique armoire key with the idea that I’d wear it, but it’s too heavy. Also, makes it harder to lose the key and ask random boys who have been in my apartment if they stole it, only to later find it under my hairdryer in the bottom drawer (oops…). 17th Street Flea Market, New York. $4.

Muthafuckin’ ankle boots with gold buckles. The new People Fall Style issue advises against ankle boots with bare legs. I can’t think of anything better. N0 Relation Vintage, New York, $30.

Gold chain cardigan clip with giant green stones. Avenue A Flea Market, New York…free. It just fit so nicely in my hand and the booth lady was shopping for old vinyl at another booth. I waited for her to come over so I could pay her for a good few minutes. She never did, and thus, it was mine. I’d never wear it as a traditional cardigan clip – I’ll probably add it to a belt or bag.

--

Proof that the 80s are hot again/Fashionista from day one…

Mini-dress over tights and boots? Very Anna Sui, Fall 2006. See also: Mischa Barton in the new Keds ads.

The photo is a little Patty Hearst, but the layering of formalwear over a tshirt is au currant. Or as ~~Lucky~~ Fucky would say, The sleek lines of the t-shirt toughens up a girly-girl dress, making it brilliantly wearable and oh-so fresh.

The socks are Prada-meets-American Apparel, and matching them with open-toe pumps makes me a fashion prodigy. Open any fashion magazine right now and you’ll see that I was way ahead of my time. The frock is a little Marc Jacobs 2004ish, but it’s practically vintage. As for my brother’s outfit in this picture…just…wow. The buns-squeezed-tight pose speaks for itself.

The healing power of pretty things.

2006-08-04T19:26:27Z

Old lady dyed-to-match pumps, Rare Bird Vintage, Denver. $22.

Super 80s dress with big-ass rosette, Boss Unlimited, Denver. $23.

Hand-tooled leather bag, Savers, Aurora. $3.50.

Rad 80s red shades, random vintage store, Denver. $10.

Cream pumps with killer toe cleavage, Housing Works, New York. $1.50.

Suede peep-toe pumps for Herm’s wedding, Nordstrom, Park Meadows. $80.

Not pictured:
Mustard leather glorified fannypack (ahem, it’s a beltbag), Boss Unlimited, Denver. $11. Herms gave it a thumbs up, Hooker Shoes gave it two thumbs down.
Frilly navy blue slip, to be worn as a dress, Savers, Aurora. $2.
Little boy’s suit vest, Unique Thrift, Aurora. $1.95.

And a gift from Mommy:

Tweed Paul & Joe cape from Target, Denver. $59.99.
[redacted: hate it, sold it on eBay.]

I think I want to start a fashion blog.

I cut memes to my liking.

2006-07-18T16:25:41Z

Do you sleep with your closet doors open or closed? Alsolutely closed. Can’t sleep unless everything is put away, drawers shut, shoes under the bed, everything. I’m a virgo.

Do you take the shampoos and conditioner bottles from hotel? Maybe if I stayed at nicer hotels. Pert doesn’t cut it.

Have you ever 'done it' in a hotel room? Surely. Isn’t that 99% of why they exist? And 100% the reason that you shouldn’t sit on the furniture without something between you and your skin at all times?

Do you always smile for pictures? Smiling is for wimps and the uninspired.

What is your biggest pet peeve? Feeling like the alternative.

Do you ever count your steps when you walk? When it’s boiling hot, freezing cold, or my feet hurt.

Have you ever peed in the woods? Sigh. Yes. In the woods. On a city sidewalk. A strangers suburban lawn. My pants. The bed.

What is your song of the week? “Alfie” by Lily Allen.

What is your favorite scary movie? Baby Boom.

Were you ever a boy/girl scout? I was a brownie and I was darling.

Would you ever strip or pose nude in a magazine? Again? Probably not.

When you were a kid, what did you dress up as for Halloween? Well, once the twins were born, it was way more fun for Mother to come up with twosome costumes, and thus, I was left to my own devices. Which might explain the year I went as a “Hollywood Mouse”. I had a cane wrapped in tinfoil, mouse ears (black paper circles stapled to a headband), a vest, and a tail pinned to my ass. She’s going to read this and protest, and yes Mother, I remember the year you made me the Queen of Hearts costume. That was awesome. But Hollywood Mouse year really sticks out as a low point.

Do you think musicals are cheesy? Horrifically. I watched part of High School Musical last night and had to switch over to Degrassi. At least people fuck on Degrassi.

Is Christmas stressful? As an adult, yes. It’s best to start drinking early and hope you get something with a Chanel logo.

Do you wear slippers? If I had slippers, I’d have to get rid of one pair of shoes to make room. And I’m not prepared to do that.

What do you wear to bed? This is where I get completely unglamorous. I wear big “step-in” underpants (Thanks, Michael Kors!) and a nightie I’ve had since I was eighteen. It has more holes than stitches. No, you can’t see it. If there’s a boy there, I wear a long sleeve shirt and cute panties. For those of you who know me and my neuroses, the sleeves are to keep the boys off my arms.

Why She's Gone

2005-07-11T19:30:50Z

So, I’ve gone to Friends status only. I hate to do this to non-LJ readers, but hopefully you’ll all make LJ accounts (even if you don’t write in them) so that you can keep reading. This all seems so narcissistic, like I’ve just been caught posing in a mirror. Oh well. Leave a comment here if you have a question or whatever and I’ll get back to you. Thanks!