I haven’t actually flipped through a Vogue in months, so my expectations for amusement in this issue were only so-so. Perhaps I’ll call this installment, “Things I learned by reading Vogue”.
Apparently people really can tell I’m wearing Chanel mascara just by looking at my eyelashes. Karl Lagerfeld paid for three double-page ads to convince me of that, so I’m convinced.
I wonder why Gap gets significantly prettier models than Gucci.
People who wear Prada have bad hair.
People who know me know that I used to teach Sunday School to 5 years olds. One Sunday, one of the demon children told a story about how she was walking with her family and they saw a deer that was trying to jump over a fence but the fence was too high but the deer kept trying to jump over it but it was too high so he just kept running into the fence and then he DIED. Juicy Couture is running an ad that reminds me of that.
Does “frugalista” sound like a mutant pasta shape to anyone else?
Does knowing where the lynx came from make my fur capelet less dead? O de la Renta, Cavalli, Lagerfeld, and Galliano try to convince of this with the very helpful, “To be luxury assured be Origin Assured”. [Author’s note: I am actually neither pro nor con-fur]
Hooray for trench coats!
The Givenchy models appear to be the result of an unholy union between Tilda Swinton and Marilyn Manson.
It strikes me as strange that Cover Girl, Secret, Pantene, Venus and Oil of Olay have joined forces just to tell me to wear a one-shouldered dress.
Hooray for jade! I am genuinely excited if Vogue is telling me the truth about this being the gemstone of the season.
There is a fashion story here titled, “Take a Hike”. Because when I go hiking I’m going to turn to Burberry’s platform gladiator hiking boots ($795) and carry my trail mix in my $1,980 Fendi handbag.
We are reminded that no one says “bling” anymore.
If wearing Prada gives you bad hair, wearing fur gives you the worst bangs ever.
The cure for SAD (seasonal affective disorder) is apparently a manicure. Who knew?
Please shoot me 11 times if I ever voluntarily wear anything that includes a feature called “leg-o-mutton”. My sleeves should not convert easily to shepherd’s pie.
Everything I buy from Macy’s apparently comes with an exclamation point!