It’s a new decade and everyone is showing a bit of ankle and I’m quite scandalized by it, truly! All the hip young men today are wearing cropped pants everywhere (even in the winter!), having no concern, it seems, for the fact that catching a chill in the exposed bit of leg that is normally covered by a modest sock is a surefire way to get arthritis. This is what the elder folks always used to tell me when I was a kid about literally everything—wear gloves or you’ll get Arthur in your hands (the elder folks were on a first name basis with arthritis). Cover your neck or Arthur will get you! Make sure you shorts go past your knees or else you won’t be able to walk up and down the stairs when you’re older. Back then it seemed a bit extreme. Now that I am in my late 30s and I get a little twinge of paint every time I take the stairs I know they were right. Arthur saw me wearing Daisy Dukes on a balmy day and he’s out to get me!
It’s for this reason that I turn into a Dowager Countess whenever I see a 20-something fashionista in pegged pants. I become a symphony of harrumphs and outraged screeches. I clutch my pearls, and cover my eyes with a handkerchief whilst pointing a shaky finger in the general direction of their Achilles tendon. “The youth! They’re showing skin! My eyes!” I bellow. Why are we doing this? Why are we exposing our ankles in the winter? What kind of anti-Victorian resistance movement has taken over the fashion industry? Is the new editor of Vogue Reno Sweeney, who famously sang “in olden days of glimpse of stocking was looked on as something shocking but now, God knows, anything goes!” God knows the youth are flaunting their ankles! I cannot take it.
Which is why it should come as a shock to you and me and Reno Sweeney that I have purchased multiple pairs of peg pants.
It’s not my fault! Truly! Okay, I don’t know if there’s any way of telling you this without it sounding at best ridiculous but I’ve hired a friend to teach me how to dress. You know, a stylist. Okay, he’s not really a friend; he’s just someone that I met who is a stylist. To whom I pay money. A stranger. With good taste. Who has forced me to purchase peg pants. I’m over here moisturizing my ankles and peering cautiously over my shoulder for Arthur’s imminent arrival and for what? For fashion, I suppose!
I think I know how to dress myself but I know (as a, ahem, Senior Staff Writer at a Fashion Magazine) that even the most fashionable employ stylists to help them craft their looks and to track trends. So, when the opportunity presented itself I took it. LOL what a mess. I mean, he’s great but also I’m very much confused by the whole process. He sent me an Instagram of this one suit designer and was like “What do you think?” So, I wrote back that I liked a couple of looks but I couldn’t quite picture myself in the suits because the designer has a very different body type than I do. The stylist was like “Well, if you’re not happy with your body, work on your body.” And I was like no bish, the designer is a string bean man with an ectomorph body and I have calves and a booty so what now?
Lord, what a life. Anyway, you will probably see me in these streets at a few upcoming events wearing peg pants. Avert your eyes. But best believe I will also be wearing tiny muffs around my ankles. Arthur’s going to have to work harder if he wants to catch me.
This week: more fashion drama, and Gwyneth is pivoting to… God knows what. But first! Queen Meghan of the Americas!
Conscious uncoupling is so early 2000s; in the future we're all Conscious Uncrowning. The couple is set to step back from public life, decamp to Canada, and earn their own coin from now on so all of the haters can go munch on some chewy poutine and stay mad about it. Truly this is a banner day for people whose therapists are trying to help them establish firm boundaries, people who don't read the comments sections, and the website LinkedIn.ca.
Goop's new series, according to the preview, sends various Goop editors and Gwyneth herself on a series of harrowing adventures in alternative wellness that have got to be HR headaches. Can you imagine going to your desk in the surely open office concept of Goop Headquarters, turning on your Gooputer, opening up your Pal-mail, and seeing an email from Gwyneth with the subject line "Scheduling your exorcism!😹😈💦😇" How does one even respond to that? Do you get PTO? (Prayer Time Off?)
All season long I've been trying to figure out why the producers are giving Sergio a little bit of a villain edit. Sure, he brusquely dismisses Christian's critiques, which is a criminal offense in 17 nations around the world. And yes, he is prone to self-aggrandizing. But overconfidence and boastfulness do not a reality villain make. Literally everyone on reality television is an overconfident boaster. All of your TV faves are highly photogenic monsters. Let's be real here. So, the subtle but consistent assertion that Sergio is the troublemaker on a show that tries harder than River City, Iowa to avoid trouble has always been a head-scratcher. Or least it always was until this week when Sergio—I can barely type this, my hands are shaking so—was rude to Cyndi Lauper! To her face! To Cyndi Lauper's face! ::pounds table and throws sewing machine through a window:: Folks, we have a villain!!!
Let’s hang out!
January 20 - Hosting The Moth StorySlam at City Winery, DC
January 25 - Reading at The Acme Corporation’s fundraiser variety show!
Random Thing on the Internet
I came across this amazing obituary, written by the deceased—a journalist named Ken Fuson—and I’ve been thinking about it all week. It’s honest, filled with gratitude, and very funny. It’s truly inspirational.
Harrumphs and outraged screeches,