Lacroix Goes Tits Up

Christian Lacroix closes it's glossy golden and garish doors.

What's Edie going to do now?





Mark: 9 min, 30 secs.


"Christian! Christian! Hello! I'm not wearing your clothes. I'm so sorry."

"I am so 'appy!"

Lacroix Goes Tits Up

Christian Lacroix closes it's glossy golden and garish doors.

What's Edie going to do now?





Mark: 9 min, 30 secs.


"Christian! Christian! Hello! I'm not wearing your clothes. I'm so sorry."

"I am so 'appy!"

All I want for My Very Merry Unbirthday Is...

A hedgehog. I want one so bad. If I got a hedgehog I would name him Scrip-Scrap and he'd reside in my pocket.


Here to meet your adorable quotient for the day is this little hedgehog:

All I want for My Very Merry Unbirthday Is...

A hedgehog. I want one so bad. If I got a hedgehog I would name him Scrip-Scrap and he'd reside in my pocket.


Here to meet your adorable quotient for the day is this little hedgehog:

Puzzle Fashion

Sometimes I say to myself, "Really I am at odds with the values of the fashion industry. I hate shallowness, arrogance, vanity, self-aggrandizement, exploitation (etc.). I should really stop being a fashion journalist," and then I go and find something so amazing that it makes my heart beat really fast and I get so excited that I fall in love with fashion all over again. This is one of those things:















by Kosuke Tsumura, former designer for Issye Miyake.

Puzzle Fashion

Sometimes I say to myself, "Really I am at odds with the values of the fashion industry. I hate shallowness, arrogance, vanity, self-aggrandizement, exploitation (etc.). I should really stop being a fashion journalist," and then I go and find something so amazing that it makes my heart beat really fast and I get so excited that I fall in love with fashion all over again. This is one of those things:















by Kosuke Tsumura, former designer for Issye Miyake.

Penance for Paris

There are some people out there, as attested by reality TV, that want to be best friends with Paris Hilton. I am not one of them. I am a third-wave feminist with a degree in Philosophy, and have well-honed skills in the art of Pedantry and Pontification. I think it’s actually required somewhere in my social contract with academia that I judge and condemn the likes of Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, Nicole Richie, et al.

[Okay, I have to confess that I’ll never use my degree and that in a fascinating turn of events now have a career as a fashion journalist. This means I am caught in a paradoxical relationship with my own skills set wherein I am supposed to be an academic and instead work in (and love!) the most superficial industry there is.]

It’s not so much that I am a Judgey McSnobface, looking down my nose at all of her socialite antics. It’s more that I’ve written off Paris’s vapid/rapid self-interest as tantamount to crimes against humanity and simply don’t care about her. Let her self destruct! Let her eat over-priced meals at Madeo! The crème-de-la-Mer of the self-important, famous-for-nothing jet-set do not bother me (and yet, as you can see, I have this prepared arsenal of sardonic descriptions at my disposal, proof that they do, on some level, bother me).

There is some unwritten rule in the fashion industry that mandates an obsession with celebrity culture. So, I quite often find myself on Pink is the New Blog, Defamer, The Superficial (my personal favorite), Go Fug Yourself, and Perez Hilton (my least favorite). I’m as into all of this stuff at the next person, but I have cultivated an aloof façade – meaning I play dumb at parties hoping no one catches me out. I actually don’t watch television, but I know all about Gossip Girl, So NoTorious, My Life on the D-List, and Project Runway. These are shows I’ve never seen, but I could tell you who Blake Lively is dating. I tell myself that it’s educational. That it’s for my job. That it helps my writing. Really, I think I’m simply as voyeuristic as the next person. I, too, cheer when celebrities falter.

After this somewhat painful self-examination I’ve come to realize that there’s something very wrong with my behavior - which really just represents a microcosm of our entire society’s obsession with pop culture. The feminist in me is stalking around, banging on my rib cage and roaring for justice. I suppress her long enough to get my daily fill of celeb gossip and move on. I’m muffling my inner Righteous-Indignation-O-Meter in order to read all about Tila Tequila and her hot (fake) lesbian lover. If you’re shaking your head at these self-betrayals and saying, “Quoi?” believe me: I’m right there with you.

I’ve come to the realization that none of this is okay.

What does this have to do with Paris Hilton, you ask? And furthermore, what does this have to do with apologizing to her?

Good questions.

Paris Hilton has become America’s favorite scapegoat. Her every action is picked apart by the media vultures. We love to hate her. Up until this point, I have loved to hate her. I felt a certain magical glee course through me when I read things like this on the internet:

[TheSuperficial’s post on Paris Hilton’s new show promises a cash reward if Amy Winehouse wins the honor of being PH’s new best friend.]“*Cash/money payable only upon successful stabbing of Paris Hilton by way of crack pipe, cat or beehive. Cash/money subject to be paid in hug dollars. Because, who can put a price on a hug? Besides your lawyer. Please don't sue.”

[TheSuperficial’s reaction to Paris Hilton’s political ad:] “Paris Hilton in a bathing suit threatening to run for office. Awesome. Not only do I now have eye herpes, but I'm forced to live in fear of a dystopian future where Paris Hilton shapes our country's political discourse. FunnyOrDie folks, that is the complete opposite of funny. So how does this work: Does she die now or do I? Frankly, I'm cool either way at this point.”

Apparently, even the Guiness Book of World Records is on the Hate Paris Hilton Train naming her the Most Overrated Celebrity.

Researching the Paris Hilton cultural obsession garnered me articles from such publications as the LA Times, The NY Post, Forbes, and the San Francisco Gate. I was hoping for a Reader’s Digest article, but I think I aimed to high.

Typing in “Paris Hilton Sucks” into google comes up with an article called “11 Reasons why Paris Hilton Sucks (Literally).” She’s lazy! She’s spoiled! She’s dumb! She’s a slut! She has a big nose! She is skinny! Guess what, author John? She’s also a person!

Our tendency for solipsism has us on a dangerous slippery slope. We fail to see others as real human beings with emotions, pain, loneliness, etc. We get all of the glossy pictures and dramatic stories without any sense of the flesh and blood human beings behind them. Frankly, I would be shocked to meet Paris Hilton in real life. I’d be surprised to find out that she actually exists.

So, we talk about her being stupid and slutty. We call her vagina a “hotel” where visitors come and go as they please. We decry her for her myriad rumored diseases. We shudder to think of her reproducing.

I mean, come on, people. How is any of this okay? She’s a kid, really. We could hate her for being rich, or for sleeping around, or for being unintelligent. Yet, here’s a chick who responded to McCain’s use of her in his campaign ad with a sly response and a bid for the candidacy. She’s poked fun of herself on SNL. She’s got to be hipper to things than we’re giving her credit for. Her talent for keeping herself in the press in this attention-deficit society is a feat worth mentioning. Part of me thinks that all of her stunts are really just that: stunts. The PR machine is full of dirty, rotten scoundrels that think crotch shots are female celebrity’s golden ticket to Page One (or Six, if you prefer). In a sick way, they’re right. All of Paris’s bad publicity might only exist to keep her in the spotlight and our hatred of her is feeding the monster. We’re playing right into their hands, people!

All conspiracy theories aside, hating on Paris, or any of her ilk, is not productive. In joining the gossip train, we also become party to vast hypocrisies. How can our sex-positive generation be so prudish in condemning who the stars sleep with? How can our beer-loving friends mock drunken celebrity antics? Haven’t we all kinda been there? “Haha, there goes Paris on a walk of shame,” we say, replete with disheveled bed-head from last night’s one-night stand.

Paris Hilton has come to represent all that is wrong with America’s obsession with celebrity culture, but it’s only in stopping the hate that we can begin to reverse the damage. So, I apologize, Paris. I’m sorry that I have made fun of you so much. I’m sorry I’ve made fun of your friends and your feuds and your fake tan and your fuzzy night-vision porno. I’m sorry that I Googled “Paris Hilton idiot” to find others who commiserated with my loathing of you. As a feminist, I want to urge you to better yourself for your own sake. I know people have told you to do so in a thousand different condemning ways, but how much are you really going to learn when people are telling you to learn it. If you’re stubborn, like me, you probably won’t learn much.

Don’t misread my mea culpa.

I still don’t want to be your best friend.

Penance for Paris

Here is a piece I wrote a while ago that was published, but it's unlikely that any of my readers here ever read it:


Penance for Paris

There are some people out there, as attested by reality TV, that want to be best friends with Paris Hilton. I am not one of them. I am a third-wave feminist with a degree in Philosophy, and have well-honed skills in the art of Pedantry and Pontification. I think it’s actually required somewhere in my social contract with academia that I judge and condemn the likes of Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, Nicole Richie, et al.

[Okay, I have to confess that I’ll never use my degree and that in a fascinating turn of events now have a career as a fashion journalist. This means I am caught in a paradoxical relationship with my own skills set wherein I am supposed to be an academic and instead work in (and love!) the most superficial industry there is.]

It’s not so much that I am a Judgey McSnobface, looking down my nose at all of her socialite antics. It’s more that I’ve written off Paris’s vapid/rapid self-interest as tantamount to crimes against humanity and simply don’t care about her. Let her self destruct! Let her eat over-priced meals at Madeo! The crème-de-la-Mer of the self-important, famous-for-nothing jet-set do not bother me (and yet, as you can see, I have this prepared arsenal of sardonic descriptions at my disposal, proof that they do, on some level, bother me).

There is some unwritten rule in the fashion industry that mandates an obsession with celebrity culture. So, I quite often find myself on Pink is the New Blog, Defamer, The Superficial (my personal favorite), Go Fug Yourself, and Perez Hilton (my least favorite). I’m as into all of this stuff at the next person, but I have cultivated an aloof façade – meaning I play dumb at parties hoping no one catches me out. I actually don’t watch television, but I know all about Gossip Girl, So NoTorious, My Life on the D-List, and Project Runway. These are shows I’ve never seen, but I could tell you who Blake Lively is dating. I tell myself that it’s educational. That it’s for my job. That it helps my writing. Really, I think I’m simply as voyeuristic as the next person. I, too, cheer when celebrities falter.

After this somewhat painful self-examination I’ve come to realize that there’s something very wrong with my behavior - which really just represents a microcosm of our entire society’s obsession with pop culture. The feminist in me is stalking around, banging on my rib cage and roaring for justice. I suppress her long enough to get my daily fill of celeb gossip and move on. I’m muffling my inner Righteous-Indignation-O-Meter in order to read all about Tila Tequila and her hot (fake) lesbian lover. If you’re shaking your head at these self-betrayals and saying, “Quoi?” believe me: I’m right there with you.

I’ve come to the realization that none of this is okay.

What does this have to do with Paris Hilton, you ask? And furthermore, what does this have to do with apologizing to her?

Good questions.

Paris Hilton has become America’s favorite scapegoat. Her every action is picked apart by the media vultures. We love to hate her. Up until this point, I have loved to hate her. I felt a certain magical glee course through me when I read things like this on the internet:

[TheSuperficial’s post on Paris Hilton’s new show promises a cash reward if Amy Winehouse wins the honor of being PH’s new best friend.]“*Cash/money payable only upon successful stabbing of Paris Hilton by way of crack pipe, cat or beehive. Cash/money subject to be paid in hug dollars. Because, who can put a price on a hug? Besides your lawyer. Please don't sue.”

[TheSuperficial’s reaction to Paris Hilton’s political ad:] “Paris Hilton in a bathing suit threatening to run for office. Awesome. Not only do I now have eye herpes, but I'm forced to live in fear of a dystopian future where Paris Hilton shapes our country's political discourse. FunnyOrDie folks, that is the complete opposite of funny. So how does this work: Does she die now or do I? Frankly, I'm cool either way at this point.”

Apparently, even the Guiness Book of World Records is on the Hate Paris Hilton Train naming her the Most Overrated Celebrity.


Researching the Paris Hilton cultural obsession garnered me articles from such publications as the LA Times, The NY Post, Forbes, and the San Francisco Gate. I was hoping for a Reader’s Digest article, but I think I aimed to high.

Typing in “Paris Hilton Sucks” into google comes up with an article called “11 Reasons why Paris Hilton Sucks (Literally).” She’s lazy! She’s spoiled! She’s dumb! She’s a slut! She has a big nose! She is skinny! Guess what, author John? She’s also a person!

Our tendency for solipsism has us on a dangerous slippery slope. We fail to see others as real human beings with emotions, pain, loneliness, etc. We get all of the glossy pictures and dramatic stories without any sense of the flesh and blood human beings behind them. Frankly, I would be shocked to meet Paris Hilton in real life. I’d be surprised to find out that she actually exists.

So, we talk about her being stupid and slutty. We call her vagina a “hotel” where visitors come and go as they please. We decry her for her myriad rumored diseases. We shudder to think of her reproducing.

I mean, come on, people. How is any of this okay? She’s a kid, really. We could hate her for being rich, or for sleeping around, or for being unintelligent. Yet, here’s a chick who responded to McCain’s use of her in his campaign ad with a sly response and a bid for the candidacy. She’s poked fun of herself on SNL. She’s got to be hipper to things than we’re giving her credit for. Her talent for keeping herself in the press in this attention-deficit society is a feat worth mentioning. Part of me thinks that all of her stunts are really just that: stunts. The PR machine is full of dirty, rotten scoundrels that think crotch shots are female celebrity’s golden ticket to Page One (or Six, if you prefer). In a sick way, they’re right. All of Paris’s bad publicity might only exist to keep her in the spotlight and our hatred of her is feeding the monster. We’re playing right into their hands, people!

All conspiracy theories aside, hating on Paris, or any of her ilk, is not productive. In joining the gossip train, we also become party to vast hypocrisies. How can our sex-positive generation be so prudish in condemning who the stars sleep with? How can our beer-loving friends mock drunken celebrity antics? Haven’t we all kinda been there? “Haha, there goes Paris on a walk of shame,” we say, replete with disheveled bed-head from last night’s one-night stand.

Paris Hilton has come to represent all that is wrong with America’s obsession with celebrity culture, but it’s only in stopping the hate that we can begin to reverse the damage. So, I apologize, Paris. I’m sorry that I have made fun of you so much. I’m sorry I’ve made fun of your friends and your feuds and your fake tan and your fuzzy night-vision porno. I’m sorry that I Googled “Paris Hilton idiot” to find others who commiserated with my loathing of you. As a feminist, I want to urge you to better yourself for your own sake. I know people have told you to do so in a thousand different condemning ways, but how much are you really going to learn when people are telling you to learn it. If you’re stubborn, like me, you probably won’t learn much.

Don’t misread my mea culpa.

I still don’t want to be your best friend.

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