Not A Very Merry Christmas

DAHLINGS -

This is the first Christmas I have spent without my beloved Bucky. Every year I would post a greeting from the two of us. This evening my eye fell upon it in a file and I wept. I am weeping now. The loss of this dog has been more of a blow that your faithful correspondent could have comprehended. Much of the first half of 2011 was spent mired in grief. (If you think this prose is a tad purple, tough.)

After the death of a loved one, there is the dreaded firsts: first birthday, first anniversary, first Thanksgiving, and now, the first Christmas.

Fletcher is sweet, albeit as neurotic as as a boxcar of Baldwins. But of course it's not the same. It can't be the same. I love him, but you cannot compare months to years.

Next month will be the anniversary of Bucky's death. If you don't hear much from me, that's why. Reviews of "House" might be the only things I write in this blog-thing.

Then again, I could post one sentence or picture a day, and pretend this is Tumblr.

Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, and whatever it is Buddhists do at this time of the year.

Elisa

Today's Life Lesson

DAHLINGS -

NEVER leave your puppy alone in your salon, with the closet doors open. Now I have $50,000 worth of Fortuny confetti.

If I'm to post everyday, it is impossible to consistently offer "high-level content." My deepest apologies.

Ciao,
Elisa

P.S. No, I don't have the option to remove those stupid "funny" "interesting" tags.

P.P.S. I have no idea why the Adsense ads have nothing to do with my content. YOU try dealing with Google some time.

A Small Meditation on Grief

DAHLINGS -

Yesterday would have been the ninth anniversary of the day that Bucky the Wonderdog came into my life. He died mid-January, and I have been dreading June 27 for weeks. As I anticipated, I spent much of the day in tears, which Fletcher the puppy was hard-put to understand.

There have been a great many losses this year. As you know, I do not divulge personal details about myself. Unless it is about my sex life or my great beauty.

Grief has taken its toll on me, and on this blog. I have failed my readers by failing to provide content, letting slip my part in the zeitgeist. In part it is because I cannot care about the usual matters that obsess moi. Rien enlève le chagrin. Interests and people will snatch one away for a short period, but then that’s over and it’s mourning in America. (Or at least New York.)

On Twitter I can be as carefree as I want, in 140 characters. An entire entry does not have to be composed. I don’t seem to be able to do that right now. There are many topics I wish to write about. The New York Senate bill legalizing gay marriage filled me with joy, as did attending the Gay Pride Parade. I wanted to snatch off half of the drag queens’ outfits. There is no such thing as too much sparkle.

Leo has been no help. He has this damn cat he lost in childhood and if I so much as mention Bucky he bursts into tears and isn’t good for anything the rest of the day.

I could say the same for myself. Here in front of my monitor, I sit, crushed, uninspired, sad.
But, as Scarlett O’Hara said, “tomorrow is another day.” Or rather, Margaret Mitchell did, but let’s not confuse the young ones.

Ciao,
Elisa sans Bucky the Wonderdog

Meet Fletcher

DAHLINGS -


Mes lecteurs chérie, meet Fletcher, the newest occupant of my fabulous Central Park West apartment. He is a miniature pinscher puppy, with impeccable bredding and a tendency to lick himself when important guests are around. The world is his toilet.

Fletcher is going to be a sizeable small dog, as evidenced by his large front paws. He uses them like paddles, particular when the maid gives him access to my boudior in the morning. I wake to the sensation of paws slapping my face in greeting. Not quite what I would wish for, but he is so adorable that I forgive him.

The loss of Bucky still gnaws at my heart, and when Fletcher came into my home a month ago, I wondered if I could bond with this flailing black and tan puppy. Fortunately, his personality and appearance is quite different from my late darling's. If one had to choose a descriptive word for Fletcher's personality, the word "goofy" comes to mind. I find myself succumbing to his charm.

Il faut être prudent éviter de marcher dans des tas de merde de chien. As cleaning up his messes is the maid's job, I care not where Fletcher relieves himself. As long as it is not one of the rooms that I myself use. The kitchen, pantry, and the servants' quarters are all fair game. I've heard the maid muttering in Spanish as she walks past me, carrying paper towels and something called 'Nature's Miracle'.

Fletcher is not an aggressive dog. Not to worry, I'll have a trainer up here to teach him to bite people without warning in no time.

Ciao,

Elisa

Bucky The Wonderdog, Rest In Peace

DAHLINGS -


I shall keep this short. Bucky the Wonderdog, after having a series of health problems, including chronic bronchitis and an enlarged heart, died of heart failure early Monday morning, January 16th. He could no longer breathe, and so my beloved dog was euthanized in my arms.


You shall not be hearing from me for a while. I am beyond devastated. He was my closest companion for over eight years, and died too young at the age of nine.







Rest in peace, my beloved.

Ciao,
Elisa sans Bucky the Wonderdog

Justice for Dunkin' Dog, Part Two

DAHLINGS -

You may remember my post last year about the tragic death of Dunkin' Dog. Here is the first paragraph from that entry:

A horrible tragedy occurred last month, when a woman's service dog, a miniature pinscher (the same as my beloved Bucky The Wonderdog) died as the not-so-indirect result of police brutality. Please help get the word out about Rosa's story. She is pursuing a Master's Degree here in New York City, but has been permanently traumatized by what happened to her and her dog.

You can find the rest at: http://diaryofamadfashionista.blogspot.com/2009/08/please-help-dunkin-dog-get-justice.html

I recently received the following communication from the bereaved owner, and decided to print it to get the word out. Our beloved pets deserve to be treated as such, and not as soulless creatures to be hurt for other people's pleasure!


I remember last year you were supportive of my tragic event. Well, emotionally, nothing has changed except I am a numb creature who is great at "playing it off" in terms of my loss. In terms of spreading the news and awareness of the tragedy, a lot has occurred.

Please visit http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a4M2luaVbtQ and listen to my interview on the globally viewed Alex Jones radio show. It went from 0 to over 10,000 in less than one week.

You can support the cause at http://www.facebook.com/JusticeForDunkin
People want to support and send donations to cover my legal expenses. The FB page has a NOTES tab which explains how to donate.

Please post this, as my new mission in life is to spread awareness of what happens on our roads to our American citizens and to change the law to protect us from this happening to another valuable life, my own and Dunkin's, who was sacrificed to make this all happen. I greatly appreciate your time and your support.

Kind Regards,

-Rosamaria

I urge all of my readers to donate to this worthy cause, as I shall be doing. What Rosamaria was put through was unconscionable. And what Dunkin' was put through was tragic and unnecessary.

Please Help Dunkin' Dog's Owner Get Justice!

DAHLINGS -

A horrible tragedy occured last month, when a woman's service dog, a miniature pinscher (the same as my beloved Bucky The Wonderdog) died as the not-so-indirect result of police brutality. Please help get the word out about Rosa's story. She is pursuing a Master's Degree here in New York City, but has been permanently traumatized by what happened to her and her dog.

Here is the beginning, with a link back to the blog. Please read the entire story.

The Tragedy of Dunkin' Dog

On July 4th I was driving alone with my service dog of almost 8 years of age, Dunkin’, in the rear seat towards the middle. I was pulled over on I-17 after being tailed for about one mile. The cop was very close to the rental car I was driving which was a gray Toyota corolla. The vehicle was due back on Sunday and I had planned on returning it, then utilizing the airport shuttle to catch my early flight back to New York’s La Guardia airport with Dunkin as my travel companion.

I pulled over to a safe spot on the shoulder of the road and the cop opened the door and drew out a shot gun. He actually AIMED it at me. I could see his eye aiming and it made no sense. I was shouted at and told to keep my hands where he can see them. This seemed very strange and not at all common for being pulled over. I could hear shot gun cocked and I realized that something was not right. I obeyed his shouts to keep my hands up and I allowed Dunkin to continue sleeping in order to keep us both calm.

I was ordered to get out of the car, walk backwards without looking, and was very confused… I was going further and further away from Dunkin’.I was shouted at to kneel, yelled at and then immediately cuffed and put in the back seat of a cop car. I immediately told him that my service animal is in the back of the car and to please be careful with him as he is licensed in NY state and is official for my Multiple Sclerosis. The car was overwhelmingly hot and my MS symptoms began as I tried breathing for fresh air. It was getting hotter and now he was drawing a weapon to the vehicle. I was very frightened that they would kill Dunkin’ as they looked like they would do so with the weapons drawn so intently. The cop opened the rental car door which was nearest the I-17 traffic. Dunkin’ rested soundly on that side of the vehicle. When the door was opened, the cop let him get out of the car onto oncoming traffic.

Dunkin’ got out of the vehicle confused. He ran into oncoming traffic, looking for me. His mission is to look for me, wherever I may be. As cars swerved and missed him… I screamed. I prayed and screamed at the top of my lungs for my companion’s safety.

The cop S.D Soto (who was the one who aimed at me through his shotgun, also cuffed me) walked to the front of the car passenger area. He pulled out Dunkin’s fluorescent orange service vest and read the insert in his pocket which states that he is a service animal and he is protected under the Americans with Disabilities Act of 1990. S.D Soto read the facts, read my rental agreement (which was located on the passenger seat area) and continued to ignore my pleas for help and air conditioning.

For the rest, please go to:
http://justicefordunkin.blogspot.com/

For the love of dogs everywhere, please help Rosa find justice for her terrible suffering. She is actively looking for a civil-rights lawyer. If you know of one, please feel free to email me.

R.I.P. Dunkin' Dog.

Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

TAXES--And No Deductions for Bucky!

DAHLINGS -

I do wish I had come up with a cleverer title, but what is a tall blonde buxom style goddess to DO? I met with my accountant yesterday (a tall, irrestible man who is--yes--taller than moi), and each year the list of deductions grows smaller. I tried everything...batting my eyelashes, showing some leg, unbuttoning the top button of my Chanel blouse. Nothing worked! Was the man made of stone?

The final insult was to learn that I could no longer deduct Bucky the Wonderdog! He has been a goldmine of deductions, what with wardrobe, vet care, the finest food money can buy, toys, accessories, plane fare...I swear, that miniature pinscher has more deductions than his owner.

"But Bucky is an essential part of my business!" I cried, trying to keep my voice as high and feminine as possible. "He is part of my trademark! He is almost my partner! Without this little dog, I...I couldn't possibly run my fashion empire!"

"I'm sorry, but he's a pet,'' said the accountant in a steely voice. "You can't deduct him as a dependent." The man was becoming less irrestible by the second.

"What about a therapy dog?" There was desperation in my tone. "You handsome man, you must realize what a comfort my little darling is in my business. The stress relief alone is saving me hundreds in doctor bills!"

"You have to have the correct paperwork, which you don't have. I warned you about this last year, that if you wanted to continue to deduct your dog you had to get the right paperwork. He's a pet."

Bucky was curled in my silken-clad lap, as he is wont to do. At the sound of raised voices, he lifted his head with a menacing growl. This was not the way I intended to make my case! So what if the man was tall, he was a beast! An unfeeling beast!

"How could I be expected to remember something like that?" If only a tear would trickle down my cheek! "You should have told my assistant to remind me!"

"I did. You fired that one months ago, according to these W-2s."

Bucky's growling grew louder, and he was showing his little fangs. Any moment, blood could be shed. Hopefully not mine.

"And he certainly isn't behaving like a therapy dog right now," the abominable fellow pointed out.

I drew myself up, surreptitiously tightening my hand around Bucky's Burberry harness. "That is where we part ways, my good man." My tone was as steely as is. "My beloved therapy dog knows exactly what I feel at all times, and right now he is protecting me--no, Bucky--OUCH!"

Unfortunately for the sake of my argument, Bucky lunged forward, I jerked him back, and he bit my right hand, which was holding his harness. For the sake of appearances, I quickly moved my bleeding hand out of sight and sat on it, simultaneously taking hold of the Bucky's leash (the harness was obviously not the best idea).

"This conversation is at an end," I said stonily, brushing the growling dog off my lap and standing. "Send me the forms when they are ready. And I promise you, there will be repercussions."

The accountant stared at me. "Very well. You should have the forms in plenty of time for April 15th. Oh, and be careful, your hand is bleeding on the carpet. Wipe it down with hydrogen peroxide when you get home. Dog's mouths are full of germs."

"Not this dog! His mouth is probably cleaner than yours!" With that, I wheeled out of the man's office, keeping my throbbing hand out of sight.

I must confess, dictating this today, the bite is rather red and swollen...thank goodness last year I had a tetanus shot.

The nerve of some people!

Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

The Love Of A Dog On Christmas...

DAHLINGS-

As you all are aware, I lead a madly glamorous life, dashing from one soignee event to the next. However, I always come home (if not always alone) to my wonderful dog, Bucky, my 13 pound miniature pinscher. And every year, that is my true Christmas gift.

Except for the year I stupidly gave him away. (Look it up.)

At night he curls up in his handmade artisanal dog bed. But come morning, I find Bucky snuggled under the embroidered down coverlet next to me, black nose buried in my silk nightgown. And firmly wedged between me and any male companion that might be there. Needless to say, the men come and go, but Bucky stays. And sits. And rolls over.



This Christmas, I opened a mountain of gifts. But once the paper was thrown into the fireplace (my personal favorite part of Christmas morning and a perennial family tradition), the gifts stacked in place, the uglier gifts regifted to the maid, there was, in the middle of the living room floor, among the mink coats and the diamond necklaces...

Bucky. Wagging his tail and wearing his new green and red Christmas sweater (my apologies for not having a picture). Shredding what was left of the Christmas wrappings. A happier dog you could not imagine, although I had sustained minor injuries getting the sweater on him. My heart filled with love, and I exclaimed aloud:

"Merry Christmas to all--especially me--and to all a good night!"

And I gathered my wiggling little darling into my arms and gave him a Christmas kiss!

One hopes the bandages come off in time for New Year's. It's just a minor flesh wound.

Ciao,
Elisa and Bucky the Wonderdog

There Is Such A Thing As Too Much Fashion!

DAHLINGS -

Let me be the first to admit, I am an avid collector of all things beautiful, particularly clothes. And jewels. And bric-a-brac (so often mispronounced by the hoi polloi). In fact, some years I converted two guest bedrooms into large walk-in closets to store my collection.

But recently, returning from a particularly large estate sale, I discovered, to my amaze, that there was nowhere to put any of it! I pulled open the closet doors in front of Bucky, and this was his reaction!



Being a woman of determination and quick thinking, I knew what I had to do. Clean out the clutter, the mess, the detritus of couture past.

And so I am holding a Cancel Out Clutter event--NOT a sale, I'm not an idiot who gives away my precious things. Look for XOC in my listing titles.

Some other wretched souls have, shall we say, stolen the idea from me, so they will also be using XOC. I tried to have it trademarked, but I was not swift enough. Through December 1st, my assistant is going to be here 24 hours a day, photographing, steaming, and listing away, until I can see the floors of the guest bedrooms again.

That ought to make her day when she comes in tomorrow.

Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

Such A Relief to Order People Around Again!

DAHLINGS -

Pardonnez moi once again for not having posted recently, but I had to hire a maid and a new personal assistant! Exhausting, I tell you. Checking mountains of references, having my detectives send the videos to my Blackberry, making sure all of the apartment Hide-A-Cams are in place--

Not to mention, shall we say, "arranging" to have my former assistant--well, what is the word I want? Silenced? Yes, I believe silenced is the safest choice.

After all, she did resign without notice during Fashion Week Spring 2008.

Now do not leap to conclusions--she's not dead, just a tad, well, shaken up.

My new assistant is easily intimidated, and that makes things so much smoother. And there are several new riders on the confidentiality agreement. My new maid is not only childless, but unmarried, so there should be nothing that prevents her from fulfilling my merest whim day or night.

GUADALUPE! GET IN HERE! I NEED A CUP OF CHAMOMILE TEA, AND I NEED IT NOW!

Ahem. What was I saying? Oh, dear, my assistant jumped a bit when I called to the maid.

It's all right, dear, I won't hurt you. If you behave. Just keep typing until I tell you to stop. And remember, don't get your face too close to Bucky's mouth. He's adorable, but those teeth are razor sharp and he has, as the television hosts say, "issues" about anyone but moi being too close to him.

Ah, I must tell you, my faithful readers, this is sheer bliss. I feel like Anna Wintour.

Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

It's all right, dear, you can stop typing now. No, really, NOW. I mean NOW. STOP TYPING! WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU, YOU IDIOT? DO I HAVE TO PULL YOUR HANDS OFF THE KEY--

The Three Tomatoes Write About Moi!

DAHLINGS -

Fashion Week is over at last, and now I have some time to myself. And I truly mean to myself, because my assistant and my maid both resigned during the past week. So, it's been calls to the employment agencies and take-out from Pastis, until this dry spell is over.

Fortunately, my wonderful pup Bucky is always there for me, in good times and bad. As I type this, he is on my lap, which makes typing slightly difficult. Because his head is resting on my right forearm. But move him? Never! A dog's love is forever--

Oh! He jumped off my lap and trotted out of the room! Damn the beast! Bucky must have smelled the leftover coq au vin in the kitchen that I was heating up.

Heating up my own leftovers...that is what your faithful correspondent is reduced to. But life could be far worse.

This same week, I was profiled in The Three Tomatoes, a simply marvelous e-newsletter aimed at the fairer sex, with both tremendous aplomb and wide circulation. It's an absolute must-read, mes amis.

Here’s the link to yesterday’s newsletter:
http://app.e2ma.net/campaign/ac406fa71ac2798786156408886d7501

Read and enjoy! And envy me, of course. (But then, who does not?) The only fact they got wrong is that I have never been in rehab...that horrible doppelganger with the same name of mine has been, and HOW she got mentioned in the article is beyond me! Being confused with her is so deeply annoying. I have sent letters from my lawyer demanding she change her name, but so far the upstart has refused.

With that one small exception, it is a delightful article in a wonderful publication, so I shall graciously overlook it. Pardonnez moi, I have to go rescue the coq au vin. Bucky has a terribly sensitive little tummy and I cannot have him messing the carpets.

Ciao,
Elisa and Bucky the not-so-Wonderdog

Viviene of Born Too Late Vintage on Plus Size Vintage Fashion

DAHLINGS -

You may think it foolish of moi to promote the competition, but Viviene of Born Too Late Vintage is a dear friend, and has so many marvelous things that I felt compelled, yes, compelled to interview her. I have spent time with her, and she is a smart businesswoman and utterly ruthless at estate sales. Until you have seen Viviene body-block a twenty-something in a black H&M Prada knockoff reaching for a vintage silk nightgown, you have not lived. Viviene is much like Bucky, small but surprisingly dangerous. I admire that in a woman.

Here is a bit of her stock. The link to the actual listing is directly below:

Vintage 1940s-1950s Tan Gingham Dress Plus Size 28 1/2 NOS



http://www.specialistauctions.com/auctiondetails.php?id=789400

As it happens, sellers of plus size vintage are few and far between. I recently purchased a beautiful 50s dress from Viviene, and it arrived almost the next day! She sells all sizes and eras on her site, which is not on (ugh) Ebay, but rather on Specialist Auctions, a site based in the United Kingdom. Viviene, however, is based right here in the United States.

Which made it possible for us to sit down over cocktails and canapes, my assistant at the ready with pad and paper in hand, in my sumptuous Central Park West apartment. As the rain pattered against the windows, Bucky repeatedly tried to grab the canapes off of the coffee table, naughty beast. Viviene and I discussed plus size vintage (and also some tres' salacious sexual gossip, which I have been forbidden to print!). Oh, well, it gave my assistant some titillation, at least.

Q: When did you first become interested in vintage clothing? Do you have any special memories you would like to share with my vast readership?

A: I've been interested in vintage since I was in high school. Our high school had "Wally Cleaver Week" and we'd dress up in 1950s clothing which was a lot easier to find back in the mid 1970s (Damn! I just gave away my age!).

My favorite memory is one I've shared on my blog, website and store at Specialist Auctions. My mom made a dress for the Butterfield Hospital Ball out of a fabric called American Beauty Rose fuchsia jacquard back in the mid 1960s. I've been searching for that fabric for around 8 years now and finally found it so my dress for my husband's Christmas party will be custom made from a vintage pattern by Juanita of Reproduction Dress (http://www.reproductiondress.com/).

Q: Ahem. Thank you for sharing a well-used memory. It's lovely all the same. Ah. Well. How long have you been a vintage clothing seller?

A: I've been selling vintage clothing now for almost 4 years. I sell vintage clothing because I enjoy the styles of yesteryear and really appreciate the fact that the items are made with a quality and construction sadly lacking in today's clothing.

Q: Too true! What is the biggest problem (pardon the pun) facing the plus-size woman when seeking a vintage wardrobe?

A: The biggest problem that plus size women face in buying vintage clothing, in my opinion, is that there are not many vintage sellers that sell plus size vintage. You'll remember, Fashionista, when we went to the Manhattan Vintage Show in April of this year that more than 50% of the vintage sellers there were plus size women, however, not one of them had any plus size vintage. We both asked them why they don't carry it and they said it just doesn't sell.

I have to admit that I have plus size vintage in my store and it's not flying out of there. Still, being plus size myself I will stubbornly hang in there and continue to offer it. It may just be that not enough plus size women know where to find me or for that matter your own store (editorial aside: gasp!) that caters to plus sizes. Plus size women shouldn't be stuck buying just vintage accessories. However, that said, they can always consider reproduction dresses made with vintage fabric and vintage patterns and then add vintage accessories to complete the look.

Many times plus size vintage dresses were worn until they were unwearable simply because people didn't have a closet full of disposable clothing in those days. Some dresses were cut down for other family members as well. So it's a real treat when you find a plus size item.

Q: What styles do you think are the most flattering for which figure types?

A: It's really hard to say exactly what dress is going to look good on any particular body type. You also have to factor in the color or pattern of a dress, skirt or blouse. Comparing an item that you have that you love and that fits well can be a big help in choosing another item. You also need to factor in each person's individual skin tone and likes or dislikes.

I think the two most important things that a plus size woman needs to do is be honest about her measurements and when taking those measurements to wear the kind of undergarments she intends to wear underneath her vintage wardrobe. Just doing that alone will help you make sure you are getting an item that is going to fit you right. You may not like what that tape measure says but better to be accurate than to have a closet full of things that don't fit.

Q: Again, too true! My guide to buying plus size vintage makes exactly that point, but you cannot emphasize it enough. It's the same as wearing brassieres that do not fit properly. The merchandise (be it you or the dress) is not properly showcased!

Viviene, are there any styles that you think plus-size women should avoid?

A: That's again going to depend on the individual. How tight or loose you like to wear your clothing, what colors you like and just your own very personal preferences are what will guide any person whether plus size or not.

Q: Well, then, what is your own favorite era?

A: My favorite era is the 1960s because the fashions span the modest to the most wild things I've ever seen. There's something for everyone in that era and fashion made huge leaps forward in that time span. For instance, a major leap forward is the leap from modest one piece swimwear with a modesty panel across the lower torso area in the early 1960s to the monokini designed in 1964 by designer Rudi Gernreich.

The other major leap I remember is the jump stockings held up with garter belts to pantyhose. That helped usher in hemlines going from below the knee to 6 to 7 inches above the knee!

Q: How is selling on Specialist Auctions different than selling on (ugh) Ebay?

A: Things have changed at Ebay over time and unfortunately those things are out of the control of the sellers at large. I grew tired of having my vintage clothing competing with reproductions that were listed in the vintage categories when there is a reproduction category provided.

I'm not against reproductions, but rather want them to be presented as such in their appropriate category. So I decided to give another venue a try. I did that for six months but wanted to take my business in a different direction than that venue offered. So when a friend, Margaret Bolger, who owns Artizania Vintage, asked me to come over to the Specialist Auctions as the co-moderator of the vintage and antique section and I accepted.

Selling at Specialist Auctions is different than Ebay in that we have moderators and co-moderators for our different sections. One of the responsibilities of the moderator is to police their section to make sure that what is offered is authentic.

If we see an item that is a reproduction for example, we will contact the seller and have them move their item where it belongs. If they don't comply then we move it to the correct section.

Another thing that the moderators do in the vintage, antique and modern clothing sections do is promote the sellers of those categories by blogs on MySpace, http://www.myspace.com/specialistauctionsvintage
http://myspace.com/specialistauctions and also on my own blog, http://alwaysplayingdressup.blogspot.com/.

Q: What should the savvy shopper look out for? What are some useful tips for buying vintage online?

A: The savvy shopper should look at a seller's presentation and feedback. Really look at the descriptions of the items you are interested in. Check the measurements and make sure you leave two inches leeway for comfort of fit. Remember that vintage clothing was worn over foundations that are nothing like what we wear today. Your foundation garment can make the difference between a vintage dress looking wonderful or downright lumpy and unattractive. If you have questions contact the seller. How a seller handles those questions is going to tell you whether you want to be involved in a transaction with that seller.

Q: Now for my Oprah question: who are your role models? As you know, mine is Anna Wintour, who taught me that conquest is all.

A: My role models are my Mom and Dad. The most important thing they taught me is that anything worth doing is worth doing right. That's my goal every day in all parts of my life.

And Viviene does it absolutely right, at http://borntoolatevintage.com/. Please do swing by and took a look...there are hundreds of items, something for everyone!

Ciao,

Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

Out in the Hamptons With The Ultra-Fashionable

DAHLINGS -

Bucky and I are happily esconsced in my exquisite (featured in Architectural Digest) oceanfront mansion. I was reading the Easthampton Star, but I find myself gazing out at the Atlantic Ocean as the sun gleams upon the whitecaps. I have a large contingent of guests here, some of the most famous names in the fashion community. However, they have asked me not to reveal their whereabouts for fear of being swarmed by the paparazzi when they go to the local market. Especially the little stout man who likes to start his day with a six-pack of Budweiser. He has to buy it himself every day because I refuse to put such a common brand on my shopping list!

Each guest tries to outdo the others in fashionable beachwear...quite amusing when one female guest wore one of those stylish outdoor oversized straw hats to the breakfast table. The brim dipped into the Eggs Benedict and we had such a laugh!

As hostess, my only rules are:

• You are not allowed to be boring
• No thong-style bathing suits, no matter how much work you have had done on your buttocks
• Do not try to pick up Bucky and give him a kiss; he looks cute but he will rip your nose off*
• You are NOT allowed to try on my fabulous wardrobe, even if you are male

I believe that is rather liberal of me, don't you? Particularly among people in the fashion industry, who can come to blows over the exact meaning of "bubble dress."

Speaking of which, two of my guests are arguing who is less relevant, Paris Hilton or Lindsey Lohan. That comes under the subject of boring. Excuse me.

Ciao,
Elisa and Bucky the Wonderdog

* My guests have to sign a waiver to that effect.

Andre Leon Talley & I Have A Smackdown!

DAHLINGS -

Apologies for my long absence!

I am "covered in shame" not to have communicated with you all, mes enfants, when I know you need it so. Especially now, as the weather grows warmer and here in beautiful New York City, the fashion-challenged come out from under their huge colorless coats and woven Sherpa hats (shudder).

"Haute Cou-Poor," my program at the Fashion Institute of Technology to teach the indigent about Fashion In The True Sense, has been literally taking up all of my time, day and night! Who knew something so hellishly close to work could be so...well, hellish? Even with all of those idiotic student interns? They are almost as stupid as my personal assistant!

(Well, no one is that stupid, but I digress.)

Andre Leon Talley and I had what can only be called in today's parlance, a "smackdown" about that HIDEOUS jacket he put on beautiful, voluptuous Jennifer Hudson for the Oscars. The man simply cannot handle criticism of the mildest kind. It comes with the territory, everyone pussyfooting around him, afraid they'll lose their job. Now he is one of my dearest friends; and anyone I have to look UP at when I'm talking to them has a special place in my heart.

But that jacket. No.

It was bad enough, I told him, that he adored Marc Jacobs's collection, and appeared on the Style network calling Nicholas Guest one of fashion's greatest thinkers (excuse me?). But the jacket was unpardonable, a major failing of taste on an international scale. In all candor, I should have had the sense to have this conversation in public, perhaps at Pastis, instead of my beautiful Central Park West apartment.

Dahlings, the man went simply berserk. You would have thought nobody had questioned his taste since 1973. Perhaps no one has. First, a torrent of abuse directed at yours truly, saying that I wasn't fit to vomit on Anna Wintour's skirt (cf. my February 4th post on Fashion Week). Then Andre grabbed one of my prized Faberge' eggs, blue and gold, and CRUSHED IT in his massive hand, whereupon I screamed!

I confess. I lost control of myself. I sicc'ed Bucky on Andre Leon Talley.

No one breaks my blue and gold Faberge' egg and gets away with it.


(This is Bucky sharpening his teeth on a rawhide.)

Bucky may only weigh 14 pounds and stand 16 inches tall next to Andre's 6 feet 9 inches or whatever it is, but that dog is a well-trained little minpin and defended his mistress!

The fearless beast leapt upward and sank his teeth deep into the back of Andre's calf, right out of Andre's reach (Bucky is a very sensible canine). As much as he swatted, Andre could not dislodge my dog, until I gave the command to let go and run!* Bucky galloped out of the sitting room, a flap of black linen pant fabric still in his jaws.

Andre collapsed on my divan, which for a moment I feared would collapse under Andre, in hysterical tears, threatening to sue me, to ruin my reputation, to tell people the heinous lie my hair is not naturally blonde!

In the interest of Andre's dignity, I will spare you further details of the next half hour. Suffice to say we parted still friends, although I will be receiving some hefty medical bills ere long, and "Haute Cou-Poor" will be the less for Andre's non-participation. But one must take the rough with the smooth. Thank goodness Bucky has had all of his shots, and I have very expensive lawyers at the ready.

One must always be prepared, cést vrai.

Ciao,
Elisa and Bucky the Heroic Wonderdog

*Let go and run was, unfortunately, a command I had to teach my darling dog early on.

Back To My Fabulous Life...

Dahlings –

To recover from Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week, I spent yesterday lounging in the tub, and had a deep tissue massage, manicure and pedicure. Bucky also got a manicure, although on black nails it’s hard to find the right color, and he simply hates red. So I chose a dark glowing purple. I refused to answer the constantly ringing phone and without my assistant there, I locked the office. Let them all wait, say I.

The next two days will be spent at the Westminster Kennel Club dog show. Unfortunately Bucky cannot go with me, poor dear. I would carry him in my Gucci custom-made dog carrier. But once he got a sniff of the other dogs, well, let’s just say some purebred show dog muzzle confirmation would be irreparably damaged.

It will be such a pleasure to watch animals who are well-fed, even if they cannot eat chocolate either. Off I go!

Ciao until next time,
Elisa and Bucky the Wonderdog

Why I Love My Dog, Bucky

Dahlings -

Forgive this uncharacteristically sentimental entry, which I promise will not descend into bathos (look it up). But yesterday Bucky the Wonderdog, my miniature pinscher, was nestling in my lap. He would have been purring if dogs purred. As it was, he made little happy noises, barely audible, burying his nose in my hand. I stroked his black silky ears and thought, what a comfort the little fellow is in this mad existence of mine. My nights spent in a whirl of parties, my days spent up to my elbows in fabrics and berating my assistant...it's all too much, my dears, too much. I have a very sensitive nervous system, which too few appreciate.

I HEARD THAT SNICKER, YOU!

Excuse me. The new maid was bringing in my morning Hawaiian kona coffee and croissants. Two days and the woman has already developed a most unpleasant attitude. She even disabled the Hide-A-Cam in her room, and threatened me with legal action if I tried to have it repaired! Hmmmph.

But back to Bucky. Animals have such purity about them. Whether they're loving you or trying to kill you, one always knows where one stands. I adore this little dog, and he adores me. His glossy black coat is soft, his little brown eyes are bright, and his tail wags all of the time. The barbaric practice of cutting off miniature pinscher's tails after they are born...it should be outlawed! I mean, what if people went about cutting off parts of their babies after they were born?

Oh, wait, some do. But not their tails. Yes, I know babies don't have tails, but I'm only writing this on one cup of coffee.

Pour me another cup, you. Milk, no sugar. Now go and set out my wisp of chiffon for the day. I'm in the mood for pink. SCAT! (Haven't learned the thing's name yet, I'll have to ask my assistant when she comes in.)

I shall never FORGIVE myself for giving Bucky to those hideous peasants in the wilds of Connecticut! But Bucky has forgiven me, that is what is important. Selfless love, that is what a dog offers. And the ability to look adorable in funny little outfits.



This is his custom-made raincoat by Dogedesigns in Canada. You can find them at http://www.dogedesigns.com/, they carry a marvelous range of things! Ever so much more chic than Petsmart. I admit, Bucky did bite me pretty hard when I was putting this raincoat on him, he has an aversion to clothes. Ironic, is it not? It is the one thing my assistant simply refuses to do! Dressing Bucky! 'Twas ever thus, they try once and never again. So it is left to me, which is why all of his outfits have Velcro. Otherwise my beautifully manicured hands would look like ground beef. The little dear has such sharp teeth, and can move so fast! I'd be quite proud of his prowess if it weren't for the pain, the blood, and the tetanus shots.

Lest I give a false impression of my dog, please realize that his is a loving nature, as many can attest. When I come home, he simply explodes with joy, wriggling and licking my face. He jumps up and down, until I pick him up, whereupon he licks all the more. Bucky follows me from room to room, hopping up next to me whenever he can and nestling his little warm body against mine. He sulks when I am at the computer because there is nowhere for him to sit. He is just slightly too big to sit in my lap when I'm at the keyboard. As I write this, Bucky is rolled up in a cashmere throw on the Louis Quinze sofa. There is a chill in the air this morning. I have considered having a chair made with a doggie bed attached. And there is a great deal to be said for having something to love, so much.

Enough sentimentality, back to business. But one small peeve: I am NOT Bucky's "Mommy". I did not whelp him. I can almost stand the term "companion animal," but don't push it.

Ciao for now,
Elisa and Bucky the Wonderdog

Rescuing Bucky From Connecticut!

Dahlings,

I'm so sorry I didn't finish the tale of my Adventure, but that man from the foundation almost talked my shell pink ear off! He has some RIDICULOUS idea that the fashions have to be “practical.” HA. When was fashion ever practical? Did Dior think practical when he designed the New Look? Were the British being practical when they introduced the mini skirt? Have the Japanese been practical when they design anything? If the proletariat want practical, I say, give them blue jeans, not Balenciaga.

Back to my Adventure. I got out of the taxi, pulled a strange piece of paper off of the back of my suit (it must have been something on the taxi seat…ugh…I should have used a private car service), and rang the bell. The couple that live there was unpleasantly surprised to see me, as well they should have been. I towered over both of them, simply quivering with righteous rage.“GIVE ME BACK MY DOG,” I said, my eyes boring into the husband’s. He flushed and invited me in.

My dears, the interior was a nightmare of Ikea and Target! I mean, they had a Thomas Kinkaid painting over the couch. Painter of light, indeed. After I had settled myself delicately on some Swedish thing passing itself off as a sofa, they proceeded to ply me with cheap Chianti and Philly strawberry cream cheese (served in the container) and crackers.

Then they told me:Bucky had loosed his collar and run away, apparently because he missed me.

I couldn’t believe my ears. They said it had happened days ago, but they had been too heartbroken to tell me that my darling little dog had disappeared into the woods of Connecticut. Probably to be devoured by a raccoon, or worse.

My heart cracking, I let out a wail of grief—and was answered by a storm of barking! BUCKY!

I dropped my Chianti and Philly smeared cracker on the floor (no great loss, the carpet was white shag), and leapt to my feet. Which is no mean feat when you’re wearing stiletto heels! “Bucky, my precious, Mummy is coming!” I cried out, and ran out of the living room in the direction of the frantic barking. My incredibly keen hearing discerned that it was coming from upstairs. How could I have ever thought his barking was piercing?

There was a huge pile of dirty laundry at the top of the stairs, but I vaulted over it, to be confronted with Walt Disney wallpaper and pink moldings. Faint from the décor but determined, I followed Bucky’s barking to a bedroom door where he had been shut up, and yanked it open. BUCKY!

He hurled his tiny, wiggling self into my arms, and at that joyous moment of reunion it didn’t even matter that he urinated down the front of my Yves St. Laurent suit. We were Together.

But then I turned, and heard the sound of the unspeakable couple coming up the stairs! With my free hand, I grabbed a handful of soiled laundry and HURLED it into their faces! Fortunately, it was dirty underthings! And not dainty wisps, I can guarantee you that!

Blinded and gagging, they fell back down the stairs!I ran down the stairs, past the couple trying to extricate themselves from the compost they called underwear, and leapt into the taxi.

“FLOOR IT,” I screamed at the driver. He had been amusing himself with a copy of “Barely Legal” and didn’t anticipate my sudden arrival into the back of his automobile. But to his credit, he dropped the magazine and gunned the motor, even though I assume his fly was open. (I was not about to look over the driver’s barricade.) We flew out of the driveway, spitting gravel. I kept my head down until we were back on the highway.

So, THAT, my dahlings, was my Adventure. Bucky is laying in his little marabou trimmed handcrafted artisanal dog bed as I write this, and all is well with the world. Except for the hired help. Where IS that lazy maid with my chamomile tea?

I shall write about Fashion Week a bit later today. For now, all I can say is...ugh. If I wanted to dress like an anorexic teenager, I'd have my jaw wired shut.

Ciao,
Elisa and Bucky The Wonderdog