Category Archives: Fashion

Last weekend I took my friend JoAnn on her first trip to Saratoga. The rain held in abeyance for the most part, as we strolled along Broadway. We ducked into shops selling incense and spiritual items, browsed several expensive clothing places, and marveled at some of the millinery on hand. Towards the end of our time there, we walked into Saratoga Trunk. It was my first time visiting the shop, and it was absolutely charming.

An entry-room held a number of beautiful pieces, as lovely owner Natalie Sillery (just back from Paris) explained various items and told of the creators behind them. I was taken by a few gorgeous cuffs by Daniel Mozzes – intricately-designed works of metallic splendor and sparkling faux-jewels. We viewed a few of his fashion designs as well – JoAnn was taken with a particular dress in a shade of deep blue. I kept coming back to the cuffs.

As silly as it might sound, there are certain items and accessories that simply call out your name. They tug at the heart with their beauty, offering the crazy notion of betterment and fun and simple enjoyment. This cuff had that power and held that sweet sway over me.

I get a lot of flack for being so seemingly superficial, but even a bauble can have an impact on the world. Like Wonder Woman’s bullet-deflecting cuffs, some bracelets instill the wearer with more than something pretty: they inspire confidence, happiness, joy – and all of that is contagious.

Picked up my crown, put it back on my head…

Some days you just have to get into a silly get-up and strut your own fabulousness ~ even, and especially, if no one else is around. Such was the case with this quick photographic moment. I’m supposed to be working on a new project, but I’m a little rusty, so I took this jacket out for a spin in front of a black backdrop.

As always, the best part came when I got to take the tie off. That’s usually the best part of any day.

It’s not easy to make Kim Kardashian look more grotesque than she more than manages to do on her own, but Kanye West did just that as she paraded around in one of his ridiculous get-ups. Debuting his fashion line (to the front-row attendance of Anna Wintour no less, who sat unamusedly beside Kanye and Kim’s misbehaving spawn, South West, or whatever they named the poor tyke) Kanye managed to wrangle some big names to his event. The unfortunate aspect is that he seemed to have brought out the worst in everyone. They ALL looked utterly ridiculous, if not completely hideous. Again, when you’re a Kardashian it’s hard to look more nonsensical than you usually do, but here they upped the awful quotient. I mean, Kris Jenner simply looks deranged.

Bonus: Justin Bieber was there to add some class to the event. Now you think about that.

Even Beyoncé got dragged down into the horrendous. I don’t know what the hell that fur thing is but GROIN. (Rihanna has always looked this foolish to me.)

Preferably with ostrich feathers to restore some of the luster to my badly-tarnished crown. I just purchased something I swore I would never purchase: a pair of L.L. Bean rubber boots. Oh the shame. Oh the sorrow. Oh for the love of God… This is the ultimate sign of growing up and giving in, and I hate every moment of it. It was not a joyful shopping experience. The creaky wooden environs of the L.L. Bean store have always made me ill at ease, and up until tonight I’ve only used the space as a short-cut from the parking lot to the mall. Kayaks and customers in sweatshirts closed in on me, and I fought with a few racks of fleece before finding my way to the “footwear” section. Once there, the dismal palette of grays and hunter greens and every shade of shit imaginable stared forlornly from their wooden perches. So this then was hell.

Let’s back up a bit, though, to the snowy day my Ice Blue Show Queen (a.k.a. the Mini Cooper) stood in the parking lot outside my office building. By the time I made it out a little after 5 PM, she was covered in snow, and the parking lot was buried in a few inches of cold fluffy ice crystals. My black wingtips crunched and groaned beneath my feet, and snow fell across my ankles and snuck beneath the arch of my feet. It was awful. The 100-foot walk was brief, but in half a foot of snow it felt like forever. When I finally finished brushing the white stuff off my car all by myself (co-workers had scattered when I ordered them to help me) my feet were frozen and wet and my shoes were cursing me out for daring to treat them with such disdain. I told them to pipe down and suck it up. (Yes, I talk to my shoes. They’re that nice.) I thought briefly of doing what I never thought I’d do, but put it from my mind. Not that. Not yet.

A week later, I was walking into work and daintily trying to navigate the slushy mess another winter storm had left behind. Burgundy leather recoiled at the contact with white and gray salt, practically squealing and begging me to stop. When I entered the building they cried out, spattered in white salt and gasping for breath and fresh water. This couldn’t go on much longer. There were shoes at stake. My babies. My precious…

So tonight I did it. I took the plunge and bought a pair of L.L. Bean rubber boots, just for walking through the mess this winter has so brutally dumped upon us. They were handcrafted for me “at L.L. Bean Manufacturing in Brunswick, Maine by Holly and the Bean Boot Team.” Holly signed her first name, but didn’t dare leave her last because she knew I’d hunt her down and make her pay for this. Well, someone has to pay dearly for making me break such a solemn vow.

They don’t go with much of what I’d normally wear (being that I don’t typically carry an ax or favor plaid flannel) but I will make them work. This will be my greatest challenge – and my biggest defeat. Winter, you win. For now…

The Golden Globes are on tonight, and like last year I’ll be Live-Tweeting it (as long as I feel like it). It’s going to be a little hectic again as I’ll be switching between that and ‘Downton Abbey‘ because we don’t have a DVR. (In other words, if I start lamenting Dame Maggie Smith’s decision to wear a hat on the red carpet, you’ll understand why.)

• First, a note to George Clooney’s wife: if I could touch George Clooney wherever I wanted, I would NOT be wearing gloves, white or otherwise.
• Eddie Redmayne in velvet tux and bowtie – the man can do no wrong (especially when naked). As for his wife, well, I like that she’s keeping it real.
• Naomi Watts – I don’t care if it is made out of diamonds, it’s still a snake, and it’s ridiculous. Love the color of the Gucci dress though.
• Amy Adams in Versace – going for statuesque, failing a bit.
• Ethan Hawke – chic in that charcoal tux, and damn you for turning back time better than Cher.
• Kevin Spacey – nice beard!
• Christine Baranski – I’ve never been the biggest Zac Posen fan, so I’m not excited by this, or the color. (Personal peccadillo.)
• Lorde – bit of a mish-mosh, bit of a mess.
• Matt Bomer – navy tux, dapper do, mesmerizing eyes. (I think Ryan Seacrest got a little lost in them.) He still looks better in a  thong.
• Andrew Rannells & Lena Dunham – power (bottom) couple of the night.
• Please tell me Amy Poehler is pregnant. I will forgive that dress only if that is the case.
• Emily Blunt – Michael Kors gives a Grecian twist, as does her hair,
• Jessica Chastain – Versace knows how to craft a garbage bag that makes the tits pop.
• Allison Williams – resplendent in red Armani Prive.
• Siena Miller – I’m torn over this dress by Miu Miu. Sections of the fabric are exquisitely gorgeous, sections of it are not.
• Michael Keaton – black tuxedo. In the words of Miranda Priestley, “Groundbreaking.”
• Uzo Aduba – shimmering beaded glory.
• Julianne Moore – a silver Givenchy dream, floating on elegant ostrich feathers used in judicious manner.
• Reese Witherspoon – is that blush or bashful? Whichever, it works.
• The Gyllenhaal siblings – one in pink, one in a tux. No trick there. (But Jake looks better naked too.)
• Emma Stone – is that a bow on your ass? Take it off.
• Bill Murray – Wandering in looking like a wrinkled hobo. There is literally a feather in his cap.
• Helen Mirren – Loving the bright scarlet, not the embellishments.
• Channing Tatum – another tux. I won’t even suppress a yawn. Another guy who’s better off naked.
• Adam Levine – tux. Take it off!
• Wolfman Matthew McConaughey – also better off nude.
• Benedict Cumberbatch – a tux that didn’t bore me, mostly because of who was in it.
• Kevin Hart – Thank you for sprucing up the tux scene with
• Jennifer Lopez – a slit and two boobs, swaddled in a sparkling cape and drape. (By slit, I mean the dress. Rise above the gutter, please.)
• Giving Ms. Lopez a run for her peek-a-boo money is Kate Hudson. This is what double-sided tape is for.
• Anna Kendrick – like a princess, which isn’t always a good thing.
• Kerry Washington – loving the color and the fabric, but the pattern is not convincing.
• Viola Davis – some are going to find fault with her mini-mirrors, but I love it.
• Melissa McCarthy – there are better ways to work with what you have.
• Alan Cumming – in shades of nude. On its own, I’d shrug, but in a sea of tuxedoes, I’m thrilled by it.
• David Oyelowo – I like the departure of a sparkling tuxedo – but I fear it reads a little too ‘Solid Gold, filling up your life with music…’
• Fix your tie, Wes Anderson. Quickly. Too late.
• Harrison Ford, still rocking that earring. Still looking ridiculous.
• If Jeremy Renner can pretend to be interested in Jennifer Lopez’s globes, then so can I.
• I see that Keira Knightley has her bib on.
• Prince. WTF?
• Gwyneth Paltrow – the prettiest in pink, and wearing my favorite dress of the evening, mostly because of the color.

Despite its many flaws (and there are certainly many) ‘Gone With the Wind’ has stood as a cinematic classic since it was released. Its rather ridiculously one-dimensional portrayals of slaves is almost laughably racist, while its histrionic heroine Scarlett O’Hara borders on nonsensical too. The latter, however, spoke to me as a young gay man when I saw it for the first time – not so much for her foolishness, but for her steely strength – something that slowly evolves and comes into focus as she deals with a world crumbling around her. The Old South was, thankfully, on its way out, and if you’ve ever had your world shift in such a seismic manner, you’ll understand too the immense difficulty inherent in such a change.

Scarlett begins with not a care in the world. Her biggest dilemma early on is selecting just the right gentleman with whom to share barbecue. That’s the kind of problem we should all have. Yet for a woman at that point in time, and in that station in life, it was an incredibly crucial decision. Choices were narrow. Options were few. And to be saddled with a dull dud and trapped in a boring marriage could be the death knell for the vivacious and spirited.

Somehow, it wasn’t even that which spoke to me. No, it was more (and less) – it was… a dress.

No, not this infamous green curtain number, fashioned in a time when fabric was apparently scarce. I was more entranced by the daring red number shown below.

In this scene, she is dropped off at a party by Rhett Butler. She thinks he is staying, but he’s not, and she’s forced to face a roomful of people who believe her to be having an affair with the beloved Melanie’s husband. She isn’t, though she may have wanted to, and the accusatory chill the guests give her is palpably awkward and believably discomforting. Most of us would have turned and run out, but Scarlett gathers her composure, pulls her shoulders back, and marches right into the lion’s den. That’s defiance. That’s style. That’s a grand fuck-you to a society that wants to trap and label and condemn to cover its own sins and indiscretions.

Have you ever walked into a room and had all eyes turning judgmentally on you? Innocent curiosity or not, it’s jarring, disturbing, and maddening. It takes a lot to muster a smile, much more to manage a composed gait.

Say what you will about the silliness of Scarlett. She did what she had to do, and she did it with haughty grandeur. Even when brought low, even when she didn’t get the man she wanted, she got through it. We should all be so brazen. We should all be so strong. The capacity to turn shame into strength is an enchantment only some of us ever master. If a few red feathers give us that extra bit of flight, bring on the plumage.

Everybody loves a guy in a kilt. Especially if it’s worn in the traditional manner. Now, you can have your very own kilt and support a couple of great guys in the process. The Kilted Bros. are currently raising funds for their kilt-making enterprise, and you can donate here if you are so inclined to help them get running. They’re already doing quite well, but their GoFundMe drive ends this week, so here’s an extra push.

As can be seen here, a kilt works in many wonderful ways, and The Kilted Bros. are big proponents for letting your balls ride the breeze. As you may know, this site celebrates those who dare to go without pants, and wearing a kilt most definitely counts.

They’re also the perfect unexpected piece for any upcoming holiday parties, which are always in need of sprucing up – and nothing spruces things up like a kilt. Go ahead, take life by the balls.

It seems like this past week has been about one outfit after another in a quick-change game of outrageous wardrobe switch-ups, culminating with the featured sparkling ensemble you see before you now. This year’s Gay Pride outfit came together rather haphazardly. Unsure of which route to take ~ sequins or leopard ~ I posed the question to FaceBook and Twitter and the results were overwhelmingly in favor of sequins, with most people citing leopard’s hey-day of last year (to which I beg to differ – leopard is timeless).

In a twist veering from my modus operandi, I went with popular opinion (and what was already halfway in my wardrobe) so I purchased this pair of sequin shorts, rustled up a sequin top that had been in my attic closet for ten years, and paired it with a Deborah Harry tank top and pink necklace. The flip flops were simply a case of function over form, and an anticipated soggy field through which I’d be walking – plus I liked their color clash with the pink of Debbie’s top. A pair of aviators rounded out the insanity, because they forgive a lot of questionable shit.

I am so ready to slip into a pair of comfortable board shorts for the rest of the summer. Or nothing at all – so be prepared.

Granted I’m a bit biased, but this year’s Met Gala, minus the star-wattage of Madonna, lacked the usual wow-factor, and while the gents stepped it up with the ‘white tie with decorations’ theme Anna Wintour proclaimed, I still missed what Madonna might have done. As it was, Sarah Jessica Parker could be counted on to dress-to-impress, and she did so in an Oscar de la Renta gown. God, what I would give to get dressed with her. Or just to kiss her hem.

Ms. Parker’s date was Andy Cohen, who adhered admirably to the theme (proof that it’s difficult for even the most amazing mortals to defy Ms. Wintour.) Maintaining the staid formality was Benedict Cumberbatch, who personified “dashing and debonair.”

But the best tux of the evening has to go to Mr. Tom Ford. No one wears it better, and no one ever could.

A couple of couples from across-the-pond, though I really only care about the guys: Eddie Redmayne and David Beckham. Why they didn’t attend with each other I’ll never know.

And from the good, we must delve into the bad. While I am loathe to criticize anything Neil Patrick Harris does, this look was not his finest. His husband David, however, fares even worse. The cut, the color, the pattern, and the shoes… there’s not one thing I like about this except the balls it took to put it on in public.

And speaking of things I don’t like: Sandra Lee in this disaster. Mario must be mad as a hornet – this is NOT First Lady caliber.  Hey Ms. Lee, is the M/C raise that I haven’t had in five years hidden in that ridiculous thing?