Consider it one for them, one for you. For them: the three snowflakes soaps, “nestled in a festive red and gold holiday gift box.” Yeah, sounds pretty festive to us. $15.50, a perfectly reasonable present-price.
And for us, the Lapin dans le Jardin soap, complete with little soap dish and attractive bow-box. $20. Oh, we really enjoy shopping for other people so much more when it involves a little something for us.
This is going to have to be a mainly pictorial story, because if we say anything we’re just going to go on and on about how much we hate people who wear Uggs, even though we are now among them. Do you know? We just feel icky admitting that. It’s like, we really don’t mind people who wear them, and we really like people who hate them. It’s those people in the middle, without the courage of their convictions, who piss us off, and we are they. Etc. Pathetic. And we will even admit to participating in a little bit of an Uggs rush on the Upper East Side today (barf, barf), when we went to Saks, and they were all, “We don’t have any more — try Barney’s” and Barney’s was like, “We don’t have any more — try Bloomingdale’s.” And when we got the last pair in our size in the store, we just sat there, thinking self-loathing thoughts about the person we wanted to be when we were seven (marine biologist) and the person we are now (Uggs wearer.)
But it’s cold, and they’re warm, and if we ever wear lace-up running shoes to the airport again, we may spazz out even more thoroughly than we did on Friday, when a TSA employee instructed us to put a 16 inch-by-16 inch bag inside a 12 inch-by-8 inch bag. This, coupled with the fact that we had, by 5 minutes, managed to miss the flight that would allow us to return to the promised land in time to see a movie about a gorilla with our friends, led to our most spectacular airport freak-out in history, except for the time another TSA worker felt us up with her wand and we spent 45 minutes plotting our revenge \ her bodily injury before smothering our fury in a vat of TCBY frozen yogurt.
See? All this prattle is trying to keep us from admitting our Uggs problem. There was a line behind us at Bloomingdale’s today, with people looking for Uggs. It was like a little suburban crack den, and nobody was getting their fix.
The Cargo version, above, remains our favorite. The fact that the new InStyle declares this a favorite of Jessica Alba just makes us hate ourselves more. $180
We believe that if you’re going to buy Uggs, they should be black, so as to be as inconspicuous as possible. The Ultimate Tall, $185
The Uptown is one of Oprah’s favorite things. It is also one of ours, because you can sell it for almost twice the list price on eBay, if you can find it in black. $180
These are still the barfiest boots we’ve ever seen. The Rockstar, $180
These are really too granola for confident use outside of one’s home, but they also look nothing like Uggs, so it’s sort of a tie. The Brooks Tall, $180
And we actually … we admit it, we like these. Oh, fuck. You know what we mean. But the chocolate’s sort of nice … oh, we have to go be by ourselves for a little while. The Sunset, $140
This is apparently a big jewelry week here at Bunnyshop. Honestly, we’re so tired we just walked into a lamp. Why do we think things like, “Oh, I have two exams on Thursday, and then I’m going to my ex-boss’s party, and then when I get home at 11, I’ll pack up my entire apartment and then take everything to storage by 8 and be at the Oakland Airport by 10?” Really? Who is that stupid? Besides us? Seriously. It’s like, fuck it. Give us one of those brains they’re injecting with mice stem cells, because even a mouthing-breathing mouse (er, try saying that five times fast) wouldn’t have pushed her flight back for no other reason than getting to see King Kong with three people she’s seen like 55,000 movies with already. Tss.
Anyway, right. Today’s perfect thing is also jewelry, and it is so perfect, sometimes we just like to sit here and admire it. Really, the entire Anthopologie department is totally genius. But this glass cameo bracelet is super totally genius. Yeah. We’re pretty tired. But if we weren’t, and we had $348, we’d buy this. Or maybe a nap. Actually, a nap. But then the bracelet.
We lived down the street from this store until we got mugged, at knife point, two blocks from it. But of course, that was bazillion years ago, when the Smith Street vibe was more Rent-a-Center than French farmhouse decor shops. And before this store existed, for that matter. Anyway: Isn’t this shirt-dress wonderful? We’ve dreamed of a shirt-dress like this. Lovely!
Alexandre Herchcovitch. That skirt, which we adore, is made of latex! Like a condom skirt! So clearly many things are made of latex, but … you make a skirt of latex, and people are going to think of condoms. Or balloons. Whatever.
This was the only Alexandre Herchovitch item we could find available online. It’s not quite as fun as the skirt. The AND t-shirt from A.H. and British designer Judy Blume, who is, by the way, neither an American, nor a writer, nor, indeed, a girl.
We were coming into our apartment building in this horrible city we are temporarily forced to call home, with maybe five grocery bags and the H&M bag we were recently, and so eagerly, endorsing, when we realized our keys were far, far, far out of our reach, and we stood in front of the door, ruffling through box after box of cake mix, when, one by one, the plastic handles started breaking, and the bags crashed to the ground. “Do you need any help?” asked a cab driver parked in front of the building. “No thanks,” we said, not wanting to bring anyone else into our circle of broken cake mixes and keys-hatred. Finally, possibly as long as five minutes later, a woman comes out of the front door: “Could you hold it?” we said, gathering up the grocery bags. And then the strap on that freaking useless H&M bag comes undone (consider our recommendation officially revoked), and we have to stop to fix it, because the contents of our bag are beginning to spill across the courtyard, and then the woman actually begins to close the door behind her. “My cab’s waiting,” she says. “Right,” we say. We hate you, we do not say.
We were willing to let this go. Then we went to the store down the block for a Diet Coke, and as we walked up to pay, some drunk girl’s Paris Hilton-type rat dog actually bites us on the leg.
We hate this city, but we are going to be home in just four days, and until then, we offer a salute to Brooklyn, home of the Cyclones, the Cyclone, Heath Ledge and Michelle Williams, their baby, many hipsters, and, we have heard, Jennifer Connelly. The I [Water Tower] BK t-shirt, $26, from Brooklyn Industries
If we had a wife, or, indeed, our boyfriend enjoyed wearing women’s jewelry — which, he would probably like us to clarify, he does not — we would march them into Tiffany’s and say something grand and ridiculous like, “Anything you want — it’s yours!” And then we would tell them we were joking and ask them to lend us five dollars so we could get an Extra-Value Meal at McDonald’s.
We love few things more than when people ask us questions, if only because they prevent us from wondering if we are adequately protected against bird flu. (Don’t even get us started.) And we were recently asked what kind of jewelry an enterprising young man should buy his beautiful young wife. This, unlike the bird flu situation, was easily addressed.
Obviously the answer is giant diamond earrings. These 2-carat earrings are $11,000, and they will do perfectly. We didn’t even know about that whole totally S&M screw-in stud (pun!) going on back there.
But perhaps you’d like to spend your $11,000 on building a bird-flu-proof fortress, or a car, or feeding a family of four for a year. We will always prefer independent designers, and one we like in particular is Adina. Personally, we must admit, we don’t get too emotionally involved in jewelry, because if we did, we’d just be even more depresssed when we leave it on a movie theater seat after letting it “rest” there for a moment. But perhaps if we were the kind of girl to get attached to jewelry, we’d be psyched about Adina’s heart on chain necklace, in particular, and also the Big Tiny Three Diamond Necklace and the Tiny Disc Long Chain Necklace.
We’d sort of hate anyone who came to yoga class wearing a $1400 medallion with Sanskrit text of the Bhagavad-Gita enscribed upon it. To be clear, we’d hate the wearer and like the medallion, which is entirely reflective of any and all of our major personality defects. 18K gold medallion, then the “Fearlessness” necklace (our pick, $95) and the small Tibetan Mirror ($1355).
We don’t know why we left her until all the way down here, but we love Sarah McGuire. It’s all so calm. There’s nothing more aggravating than walking into a party feeling like you’re wearing a really stupid necklace. Er, except bird flu. We are going to buy this first one as soon as we can: It’s identical to one we had from Banana Republic that wasn’t quite as nice, and we got compliments on that thing all the time, until the cord frayed. We have much higher hopes for this one. Three Rings necklace, $75. And the hand-beaten bands are nice, too, and probably even nicer in a marital setting.
And finally, Serge Thoraval, whose stuff would make a marvelous present for anyone. French. Etc. Maybe too moody for Christmas, but otherwise ideal.
We recently bought a sweater that is the cashmere equivalent of a potato sack, and almost as flattering: It’s this terrifying silhouette of our sixth-grade Fluffernutter self. We know why we bought it (“half off of half”) and we know why we won’t return it (because we are so, so cold.) But really, we ask: Could we possibly find a non-Fluffernutter cashmere sweater, for warmth and non-Staypuft-Marshmallow-Man-ness?
Obviously the answer is yes; however, none of it is half-off-of-half. At least until December 26. Seriously, sometimes we think we shouldn’t buy a single thing until after Christmas, when it’s all on sale. Of course by that point, we’ll want (full-priced) spring lines, but we digress. Cashmere: sweaters.
We show this sweater first just to protest the asinine embroidered moose on this Ezra Fitch sweater. We know: You’re like, “Embroidred moose? What the fuck?” And yet, there it is, assuring that no one buys it but those girls who wear Abercrombie micro-minis and Uggs. We would love this sweater without that ridiculous moose. And you know, we quite like moose. Ugh, it’s just so lame, in this particular case. Ezra Fitch premium cashmere v-neck, $148
Honestly, it’s not like J. Crew’s even trying anymore with these. Sort of like when you go to KFC and you have your choice of a half-dozen sauce flavors. Now you have a cashmere v-neck tee in 20 colors. Of course, we love eating at KFC, and we love this sweater, so it really sort of works out in the end.
These aren’t spectacularly edgy choices, hmm? We guess it’s that cashmere’s so expensive that if you’re doing interesting things with it, it costs way more money than we have. So we’ll stick with basics. Like this Inhabit cashmere sweater. $250
This Alice & Olivia sweater … we’re sort of over it. But once, when it was young and new, we loved it. This model looks a little like Shannon Elizabeth, no?
Theory. We love Theory. It’s too expensive, sort of like a Gap for investment bankers, but we remain fans. They make like 8 million cashmere sweaters, but this is our favorite (again: basic). The Marina C cashmere sweater ($195) — we like this color, but if you like it in “wheat,” you’ll save half, down to $97.50.
Welcome to the new Bunnyshop! Believe it or not, this took about two months of cutting and pasting between here and the old site, and now, it is finished. Just in time for the new Project Runway — which, by the way, was our first area of public obsession. (Daniel: We love you.) Photo albums! Calendars! Comments! Oh my! You saw where that was going, didn’t you. Please tell us what you think: bunnyshop@mac.com.
So: We hope you like it. We hope you like it as much as we dislike the subject of the post below.
From today’s Times:
“I come from a time when gay men dressed women,” [Bill Blass designer Michael] Vollbracht said. “We didn’t bed them. Or at least I didn’t. I am someone who is really pro-homosexual. I am an elitist. I am better than straight people. Women are confused about who they want to be.”
You know, we wouldn’t have minded if he was like, “I’m better than straight people who are stupid motherfuckers” or “I’m better than the straight people who live next door to me” or even “I’m better than [a notorious straight person such as] Tommy Lee.” But seriously. Fuck you, asshole. You design clothes. You’re better than a straight person who’s curing cancer? Ugh. Seriously. Fuck, fuck, fuck you.
We barf our confused, straight, womanly-ness all over you, you ass.
