Showing posts with label Tinsley Mortimer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tinsley Mortimer. Show all posts

Thursday, December 9, 2010

On Today's I Don't Care List...Duracell!

DAHLINGS -


I was sent the photograph below by the lovely people at Duracell batteries, who had some "green" event called Pedaling the Power today. Among the illustrious participants (titles designated by them, not moi):



Carson Kressley, (Fashionista) Robert Verdi, (Fashionista) Tinsley Mortimer, (Fashionista) Charlotte Ronson (Designer) Joey Wolffer (Stylist/ The StyleLiner), Jussara Lee (Designer) Mazdack Rassi (Milk Studios), Jean Pigozzi (Owner, LimoLand store), Eric Goldstein (Owner, The Jean Shop) Charles Nolan (Designer)



The press release had a tremendous amount of blah blah blah about how wonderful Duracell is, how "green" the company is. You know the drill. Why this is supposed to be interesting is beyond me, but here it is. It will be one any number of blogs who will consider it "news."

Now that I've done my job, I deserve a cocktail.

Ciao,

Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

Thursday, May 21, 2009

The Fashion Show, Episode Two: Come Back, Heidi Klum, All Is Forgiven!

DAHLINGS –

So, the second episode of The Fashion Show has been inflicted on the American public. Your faithful correspondent was not impressed. At least they have toned down “Evil Isaac” to “Nasty Isaac.”

After being told last week by “Evil Isaac” that she had no business being in fashion, a weeping Kristin quit the show. So now we won’t have to look at that annoying hair anymore.

As before, Kelly Rowland still has absolutely nothing of value to say during the judging. Thank God for Fern Mallis, or I couldn’t sit through this idiocy. And the ending catchphrase from NI: “We’re not buying it. Bye, darling.” Somehow one doubts that will be on everyone’s lips. With Project Runway, fans said that the designers had been "auf'd." Saying a designer has been "bye'd" lacks the same zing, don't you think?

The mini-challenges aren't worth commenting about, other than they take even more time away from the workroom. AND they have 30 second segments of the actual show? Not teasers, but segments? Thank goodness for fast forward.

And how pathetic is it that the only visible sponsor is Tresemme? When they showed the fabric store, it certainly wasn’t Mood (which your faithful correspondent has visited many times), in fact, they could not show the name on the bags! And the winner gets…

A fashion show on the runway set. In the basement of whatever building that is. Combien peuvent-ils faire de plus faible des enjeux, chers lecteurs?

I never thought I would write this, but I miss Heidi Klum.

Well, most of the time.

This past week’s challenge was to design for…Tinsley Mortimer. Ms. Mortimer is a “socialite”, and she and her husband Topper (in this picture she told him to look at the camera, but this is the best the poor thing could do) are from that elite group that intermarries. Rather like Appalachians, but with far more money.


This is a woman so without personality that a planned reality show about her life was scrapped earlier this year. Do you realize how dull a celebrity has to be to have a reality show about you not even make it to air? (I know this fact because I have my connections.)



“My hair is my trademark,” she claimed about her bleached tinder-dry long bob with bangs. The bangs at least obscured the ridiculous amount of eye makeup she was wearing. Each designer was given $40 to create their outfits. As the young people say, WTF?

The designers were kept in teams, which is meant to promote conflict as these various social misfits clash with each other. Merlin’s flamboyance is starting to grow on me, and I suspect the producers will keep him until he makes something so unforgiveable that it actually catches fire on the runway and burns the poor model to death. Reco looks exactly Jimmy Walker on “Good Times.” One keeps waiting for him to shout “Dy-no-MITE!” I liked his design, if not the clashing colors. (That background designing for strippers is hard to shake off.)


During the 14 hours the designers had to create their pieces, Nasty Isaac and Useless Kelly visited the workroom several times. Determined to be as unlike Tim Gunn as possible, instead of giving constructive criticism and encouragement, Nasty Isaac tears down each design. Or if he can't think of anything sufficiently vicious to say to the designer, he simply sprinkles some bad karma around. Each time the hosts leave, the designers are visibly more dispirited. WHAT is going on?

Are they going to start waterboarding the designers as we get closer to the Final Four?

Laura was determined to put red tulle on a badly designed dress, despite the efforts of her team to talk her out of it. And the back! Dear God, the back!



During the final judging, an awful lot time is taken up with of groups of people getting up, sitting down, getting up, sitting down. I was starting to nod off from boredom, so I’m not certain why. Bucky was sleeping in my lap, so he was of no help.

Suffice to say that Daniella won for a cute jumpsuit with a transparent bomber jacket, nothing special except for a floppy blue bow that was completely out of place. Ms. Mortimer, the fourth judge, would “totally wear it.”


The loser was going to be either Laura and Johnny R., whose dress not only promised to malfunction on the runway (thank goodness models barely have breasts), but was put together with safety pins. When criticized, Johnny R. and Isaac had a bitch-slapping contest. Not smart, Johnny dahling. Isaac is the host, you fool. Obvious to us, perhaps, but not to Top-Knot Guy. (Unfortunately for moi, the nickname Samurai Guy is already taken.)


Backstage, Isaac pretended to be foaming-at-the-mouth furious while Kelly pretended to restrain him. The choice was between “bad attitude and bad dress.” I’m sure after consultation with the producers, they went for bad dress. Quel mauvais. Top-Knot Guy is more telegenic, and I’m sure we can look forward to more outbursts in the future.

Or you can look forward to it. I might wait for the real thing to come along later in the season, on Lifetime.

Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

Thursday, August 7, 2008

Florence of Arabia in Fire Island...

DAHLINGS -

It's been days and I am STILL absolutely exhausted! Why, oh, why did I leave my fabulous (featured in Architectural Digest) oceanfront mansion and go to The Pines on Fire Island? Well, for one thing, I was invited to an only slightly less fabulous (not featured in Architectural Digest) oceanfront mansion for luncheon with other members of the fabulous fashion community. One can surmise my fatigue level from my overuse of the word "fabulous."

In ANY event, the luncheon was tasty (if vegan), the host was très célèbre, as were most of the guests, and the gossip was even tastier than the food. Mostly about Aubrey O'Day and Linda Hearst, and that sort of thing.

Luncheon over, some of the guests went downstairs for a nap, some went upstairs for casual unprotected sex, but yours truly did the wrong thing:

I went for a stroll. To Cherry Grove.

For those of you who don't know this (as I did not), Cherry Grove is about 300 miles away from the Pines on foot, if only ten feet by private yacht. And of course stilleto heels were hardly the right attire for a rickety wooden boardwalk. However, I still had the slightest of hangovers from the Dior Beauty party in Easthampton the night before. Tinsley Mortimer was there, in a lovely green Dior gown, with Topper, and we were all terribly tactful about the failure of her reality show.



The problem is, dear Ms. Mortimer has no discernible personality, so the crew filmed for days and was left with nothing but footage of a blonde stick figure applying makeup over over.

Rather like "Groundhog Day," but pointless.

ANYWAY, back to my misguided Adventure. As always, I was covered in veils and sunblock, with my assistant walking the mandatory ten paces behind me. We walked and walked and walked...what was astonishing was the terrible condition of the boardwalks between the multi-million houses. It wove up and down, up and down. It was ENDLESS! Thank God I had left Bucky the Wonderdog back at my fabulous (featured in Architectural Digest) oceanfront mansion!

We passed one house with a flyer for a show in Cherry Grove, featuring a singer whose quote was "Show stopping lesbian!" Pondering what made the difference between an ordinary lesbian and a show-stopping lesbian at least made the time pass.

Soon, the unthinkable happened:

I started to perspire.

"Cool me off! I am perishing from the heat!" I snapped to my assistant. She simply stood there gaping at me, sweat streaming down her face. The idiot had not thought to bring a thermos of cocktails! I whipped back and continued to walk, and soon the boardwalk ended, at the edge of a FOREST, of all things. A handsome young nearly naked man was jogging towards me, and I hailed him with a cry of despair: "WHERE IS CHERRY GROVE?"

"Oh, honey, you follow the trees with the yellow paint on them." He pointed from where he had come, the deep forest, lined with a green algae-covered swamp. No one loves nature more than moi, but at a safe distance. My shoes! My pedicure! We staggered through the woods, where I had to repeatedly duck under branches and occasionally step over coupling males, and came out into...

a desert. The sun beat down upon me, and my assistant gasped like a snapper on a hot wooden dock. The sand was far too hot to take off my shoes (my assistant took hers off, little fool, and started to howl with pain. It gave me a certain satisfaction, given my overheated, soaking state. I prayed I would not see anyone I knew!). Like a beautiful Lawrence of Arabia, I made my way across the desert under the baking sun, and then there came the Sign:

CHERRY GROVE (with an arrow)!

We made it into town, where I was able to slake my thirst with a frozen margarita. (My assistant chose pink lemonade--pah!)

That is why you have not heard from me...the sunburn alone had me prostrated. My beautiful skin, scalded! I have been applying aloe vera by the handful. It has not been so much the physical pain, as much as the emotional torture of looking in the mirror and seeing a lobster-red face and chest looking back. I shall not be seen in public again until it has faded.

Later, dahlings -

Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog
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