Anne Hathaway: Is It Live Or Is It Memorex?

DAHLINGS -



Sorry for the dated title, but to be honest, nothing else came quite as close to the mark. In my inbox this afternoon was a promo for Anne Hathaway's cover for Vogue. I am always fascinated by how photo-retouchers are able to turn real women into strange wax replicas of themselves. (I am also fascinated how real women can turn themselves into strange wax replicas, pace Courteney Cox).





Herewith are the photos:

Naturally, my favorite cover line is the one about "Natural Beauty That Delivers." Vogue would not know natural beauty if they tripped over it on their way to the loo.



I mean, really. Of course every thin young actress since 1975 has had to pose as Audrey Hepburn as Holly Golightly. One thinks it's a clause in their contracts.

But that is not my point. Most of us are aware how heavily manipulated the images are that bombard us daily. However, did you know that a special CGI artist was employed on Sex And The City II to fill in the lack of flesh of Sarah Jessica Parker's bony hands? (My source is quite reliable.) Before the inevitable onslaught of comments accusing me of being negative about extreme thinness, I am writing this about ALL actresses and actors of all sizes and ages.

There are far too many stories of that nature. In this digital age, it is truly an outrage that virtually no public image is the image of what is actually there.

Ciao,

Elisa & Bucky The Wonderdog

Contest: Win A Trip To Fashion's Night Out in NYC

DAHLINGS -

The kind folks at Conde' Nast asked moi to spread the word about this special contest, and how could I say no? Well, obviously, I could, but it's an excellent contest (so much more high-end than winning, say, a year's supply of Hamburger Helper. Not that I have ever eaten Hamburger Helper. One has to have standards.). Details below.

Nationwide contest brings “Fashion’s Number One Fan” to New York City for Fashion’s Night Out

Beginning Tuesday, July 27, fashionistas nationwide are invited to upload a 30- to 90-second video of themselves explaining why they love fashion for the chance to be chosen as Fashion’s Number One Fan and win a trip to New York City for Fashion’s Night Out.

CBS will choose the Top 10 video entries to be posted on CBS.com for one week – from August 24 to August 31 – during which people can log on to vote for their favorite and help determine the five finalists that will be in contention for the grand prize. On September 3, a panel of experts from CBS, Vogue, the Council of Fashion Designers of America (CFDA) and New York City & Company will select one of the five finalists as Fashion’s Number One Fan. The lucky winner will win a trip to New York City in September to be a part of the biggest fashion party in history: Fashion’s Night Out 2010! The deadline for submissions is August 20. Go to http://www.cbs.com/fno to enter and for more information.

The winner of the Fashion’s Number One Fan contest will receive the following prizes:

Two round-trip airline tickets to New York City
A five-night stay for two at the five-star Mandarin Oriental, New York
Two exclusive seats to Fashion’s Night Out: The Show at Lincoln Center on Sept 7, 2010
The lucky winner will be driven in the all new 2011 Volkswagen Jetta for Fashion’s Night Out
Two tickets to a Fashion Week show
Exclusive Fashion’s Night Out merchandise
Two tickets to Green Day’s American Idiot on Broadway
One year’s worth of Maybelline New York cosmetics in a signature makeup artist kit
A $500 Macy's electronic gift card, plus an appointment with a Macy’s by Appointment (MBA) personal shopper

So grab those webcams and have at it!

(Personally, "Number One Fan" always makes me think of Misery, but that probably means nothing to the younger generation.

Ciao,

Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

Guest Blogger: "The September Issue" Film Review

DAHLINGS -


My dear friend Sumana Harihareswara, (say that five times fast), is a technology executive who does the sort of work I don't understand and can't possibly explain. And she is a delightful person. Now this might have you thinking, "Is our faithful correspondent in a parallel universe? Is she high? A technology executive, delightful?"


Fear not, cherished readers, my sanity is intact. Sumana brings a perspective to the arena of fashion that I find refreshing, since those that toil in the fields of style tend to suffer from, shall we say, an atrophied sense of irony. Everything, from what hemline is in to what shoulder treatment Diane Von Furstenberg is using, is so deadly serious.


In any event, we attended the film, The September Issue, together, and her review is well worth reading. It sums up much of what we discussed afterward. (The link to her blog, Cogito Ergo, Sumana, is on the right.)


http://www.harihareswara.net/sumana/2009/09/12/0

And by the way, the hats for the $50,000 photo shoot set in the 1920s were made by the amazingly talented Ellen Christine of Ellen Christine Millinery. She supplied much of the wondrous headgear I sported during New York Fashion Week!

Enjoy!

Ciao,

Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

The Rumors Aren't True...Anna Wintour STAYS!

DAHLINGS -

Imagine my relief when I read numerous rebuttals to the rumor thatmy darling Anna Wintour would be replaced at Vogue! Si Newhouse and even Roitfeld's daughter have said absolutely non to the proposed change.

Les mots ne peuvent exprimer mon secours.

My sincerest apologies to any French friends my previous entry might have offended, but I was writing (or dictating, as the case may be) out of pure emotion. A mixture of terror, grief, and a fear that suddenly American females would be expected not to wear lipstick anymore.

More later, mon chers -

Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

Mon Dieu! Terrible Rumors About Anna Wintour!!!

DAHLINGS -

As you know, I am the last word in discreet. Far be it from moi to spread rumors, but possibly terrible news has reached my shell-like ears:

Anna Wintour may be replaced at Vogue!

Non! Il ne peut pas être! C'est un scandale, je vous le dis, un crime au-delà des mots! Je suis sans voix! Les mots me manquent! Non! Non!

Non!

I knew there had to be a reason she had gone blonde.

According to online sources, Condé Nast overlord Si Newhouse departed early for his annual three-week December vacation in Vienna. It seems that he needed time for a meeting with French Vogue's éditeur de femmes Carine Roitfeld! Oh, the humanity!

But how can the editor of such a small part of the Condé Nast empire fill Anna's exquisitely fitted high heels? No one loves the French better than moi, but let us be entirely honest, mon cher readers. During Spring Fashion Week, Roitfeld confessed to disliking business, to being a stylist first and foremost. The Français diable must have been talking out of the other side of her face, if you get my drift.

The woman doesn't even wear lipstick! Yes, yes, we all blather about how stylish the Parisians are, but do you think Roitfeld has what it takes to oversee a magazine that speaks to millions of American readers?? Next to America, France is a bit of a cow town, no matter how many books Americans write about Frenchwomen never being fat. (I've seen them, and I know what a base canard that is.)

This is like asking Sarah Palin to be President. Thank GOD it never came to that!

And what will happen to darling Andre Leon Talley? We've reconciled since his (ugh) friendship with Rachel Zoe. We simply have an agreement that he never mentions her name in front of me, or I will sic Bucky the Wonderdog on him. Where will Andre go? I simply cannot envision him hosting a show on the Style Network! Oh, how the mighty might fall!

The word is that this is part of a cost-cutting move by Newhouse because Mens Vogue and Fashion Rocks have flopped, and dear Anna commands a two million dollar salary. Plus perks and undying devotion from yours truly.

One hopes Anna can find comfort in the arms of Roger Federer. Failing him, Michael Phelps. Phelps will sleep with anyone when he's drunk enough, although you didn't hear it from moi.

Now, how on earth did I get into the topic of Michael Phelps's sex life?? I am sorry to be getting so exercised, I must go lie down and have the maid dab my temples with eau-de-cologne. Oh, the economy!

Ciao,

Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

Changing My Store Name, Dahlings!

DAHLINGS -

I was recently confronted with the fact that my store name is not being picked up by "search engines," whatever those are. A technologically savvy suitor explained to me, but of course within minutes I'd lost interest and was thinking about Kristen Johnson's recent terrifying 60-pound weight loss (what is it about Hollywood?). Here was a divinely tall, robustly built woman who now looks like a feverishly happy skeleton. Mon dieu! It must be something in the drinking water. Or maybe Rachel Zoe got hold of her.



In any event, I shall be changing the name of my Specialist Auctions store to The Mad Fashionista's Plus Size Boutique. A bit mundane, but apparently one must bow to the "bots," as my suitor called them.

Whatever the name, I am stocking my store with delightful summer chapeaus, every one of them a little gem of style.

Vintage 1950s "Bee In My Bonnet" straw hat:



http://www.specialistauctions.com/auctiondetails.php?id=1170682

Vintage 1950s velvet-trimmed straw hat by Doraine of New York:



http://www.specialistauctions.com/auctiondetails.php?id=1170760

Vintage 1960s blue feather bucket hat:



http://www.specialistauctions.com/auctiondetails.php?id=1153778

Off to read Vogue while my assistant replaces the name and logo. That reminds moi, an interesting read is "Pixel Perfect" in a recent issue of The New Yorker magazine. I don't often read anything that long, much less anything in The New Yorker. But it concerned the man who is in charge of retouching every single picture you see everywhere, at least if it's female. Quite, quite interesting.

Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky The Wonderdog

When Bad Fashion Happens To Good People

DAHLINGS -

I was leafing through Vogue, the "Age Issue," as they call it. While I myself have absolutely no idea of my chronological age (through circumstances I have explained in this very blog-thing), it's an interesting read. Who knew the world's chicest 52-year-old is a tycoon who makes Chicken Tenders for Burger King and other health-destroying foods? Of course, she herself dines on spinach salad...let the poor folk have the cholestorol.

In any event, I was thinking about age-appropriate wear, whatever that term may mean. When I was last in New York City, I could not but notice how many women are wearing tops that are meant to look too tight, especially in the stomach area. These are worn with low-rise pants or skirts riding the hips. It's bad enough on young girls, but women over 25...words fail one. Noises, yes, words, no. Bleagh.

No, don't put that in, you idiot! Nonverbal communication is just that, nonverbal, and has no place in my blog-thing!

I tell you, as soon as I get a computer that can type itself, my personal assistant is gone.

Pardonnez moi. Back on topic. That train of thought led me to a dear friend who, alas, is somewhat taste-challenged when it comes to her wardrobe. Although she is well past forty and quite plump, she enjoys wearing camisoles with contrasting bras and low-rise jeans. More power to her, I think, trying not to look at the lumps of flesh oozing over her waistband--or hipband, more to the point. After all, I am a plus-sized female and therefore should support a woman's right to ooze.

However, the piece de' resistance was a golden gown she purchased while traveling, custom-made, mind you. She rhapsodized about it, making certain that I knew exactly the astronomical amount of money it was costing (this is another trait I generously try to overlook). Apparently it was a masterpiece of the dressmaker's art, in fine Italian satin. I couldn't wait to see it. What woman doesn't love gold?

I should have waited.

I went to her country estate, she flung upon the armoire, and there, mes enfants, hung a dress that would not have been out of place on the clearance rack at J.C. Penny's after prom season. It was gold, sleeveless, with a gaudy, huge rhinestone triangle just under the plunging neckline. With a false smile of admiration, I asked to examine it (what can I say, years as a clothing seller has made me a bit compulsive.) As is my habit, I opened the neckline to look inside at the seams.

As I touched the fabric, a shock went through me.

The fine Italian satin, that had cost thousands of dollars...

was polyester.

I had not the heart to tell my bosom chum. Why burst her bubble, when she was so delighted? Why tell her that the seamstresses knew they had a rich American for the taking?

More to the point, why hadn't she taken me along? I would have led her down the path of Fashion In The True Sense, where silk is silk and not something made out of plastic.

But one must let people make their own mistakes--

So you can gloat about them later.

Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

Behnaz Sarafpour Needs Zoloft - Fashion Week Cont.

DAHLINGS –

Why, oh why did I subject myself yet again to the Behnaz Sarafpour show? Hated it last season, DESPISED IT this time. My dears, if you want to see Depression Strutting, this was your meat. Dowdy, dull, gray, gray, gray.
Ms. Sarafpour must have stopped taking her Zoloft, that’s my opinion. Or she did all of her designing in a very dark room lit by a candle, with the wind howling outside. Actually, that was also the atmosphere at the show, and it had the intended effect. I ate my entire Toblerone.

And the models—once again, hideously skinny teenagers. You think I would be used to it by now, but it also startles me that anyone so gaunt can be mobile.

Of course, several models stumbled, but it was because they were passing by moi, sitting in the front row with my Toblerone. Understandable.

AND THE COLD! Vogue’s Hamish Bowles had the sense to wear a scarf, and some others in the audience wore sweaters and coats, but then of course there were those style-at-any-cost look-at-mes like Piper Perabou who shivered valiantly in a sleeveless summer frock.

Thank God for Bill Blass—or rather, Michael Vollbracht. A beautiful collection. But to be frank, your faithful correspondent has seen far too much of the wildly original these past few days. Many Blass gowns that I plan to order for myself, some LUSCIOUS satin brocade fur-trimmed coats, and a gold dress that is almost the exact duplicate of a gold dress presently being sold by my fellow Ebay seller, underwood_estates. See for yourself:


Underwood-estates is selling it in a terribly chic size 4, otherwise it would be in my shop.

http://cgi.ebay.com/GOLD-BOMBSHELL-Sequin-Open-Back-Wiggle-Cocktail-Dress-4_W0QQitemZ110080334625QQihZ001QQcategoryZ63861QQtcZphotoQQssPageNameZWDVWQQrdZ1QQcmdZViewItem

My only regret was seeing First Lady Laura Bush dressed in Blass the other day...but one must push those thoughts out of one's mind in order to function, non?

The less said about the Betsey Johnson show, the better. Child molesters would have loved it, and I see the same things on Ebay every day for far less. Nothing original, except for Joan Jett in the audience! I am ordinarily not a rock fan, but I was almost inspired to play air guitar and belt out “I Love Rock And Roll.” Fortunately, I stifled the impulse. My image and all that.

In the midst of all this, I came across a delightful, body-positive way to promote your brand: the company Jack Spade has wants to save the models: by handing out cookies shaped liked hot dogs and hamburgers to the catwalk stalkers as they make their way around the tents. Each comes with note that reads: "These cookies have been baked with extra love and care, please visit jackspade.com to purchase a cookie, a portion of proceeds given to skinny people everywhere."

Must change my outfit again…when will this END??

Ciao,
Elisa (sans Bucky The Wonderdog at present)