Capris: Every time we think about them, we say to ourselves, “God, we fucking hate capris.” And so we walk around with our full-length jeans rolled up to our knees. Honestly, it’s denial. It’s pathetic. They may appear on every fashion-don’t list we’ve ever seen, but they remain, like the PopTarts, one of our guiltiest pleasures.
How could these not be our favorites? These are awesome. These are what everyone in Grease should have been wearing, with precisely those shoes. Rock & Republic Chrissy crop jeans, $242
They sort of remind us of these cropped parachute pants from Anthro, except they’re half as much and not quite as cute. $78
And these Joies are like the Anthro pair, but originally twice as much, and now about the same. We know; the math isn’t exactly fascinating, but we’re in that end-of-semester slog, and we will be for the next two weeks, and all we are saying to ourselves, besides “What is our problem with capris?” is “Why the fuck did we ever want to go to art school?” Er, anyway.Joie distressed capris, now $87
These are so L.A.M.B. Like, almost done in by their trendiness. But they are also sort of adorable. If we had a job at a fashion magazine, and it paid us shitloads of money, we would totally wear these while we moped around thinking about how great it would be if we were in school somewhere. Because we. Are. Malcontents. Oooh, once you say it, it gets all better. $113 (down from $225)
We have three readers in Japan. We have more readers in Malaysia, and 65 other countries. However, we’re totally into niche audiences, and this post is for them: Do you like slightly surreal (er, Surreal) images of strangely splayed women’s bodies? Fashion masochism? We totally thought you did. In which case you probably want to stop by the Tokyo Metropolitan Museum of Photography and check out the new exhibition from Guy Bourdin, the late French photographer. Favorite quote from the proceedings, from his son: “The press tries to make my father out to be some kind of depraved monster, but that’s just not accurate.” It’s like, er, really? Did they? We hadn’t heard that. But if he says so. Whatever.
Bunnyshop: Making a bid for cultural relevance in over one country worldwide!
As we say, we forgot this from our Mexican packaging extravaganza. If an “extravaganza” can consist of eight pictures. We really sort of half-assed that, there. However, nine is better than eight, unless you’re talking about how many chocolate PopTarts we ate today. In which case nine is nine too many.
Note the globally-recognized gold “caffeine free” tip-off.
So at one point, we were quite set on setting up a second blog, but this one would be just about different packaging from around the world. You can see we haven’t exactly gotten around to it, and since we had that idea about a year ago, it’s unlikely we’re going to any time soon. At this point, it seemed reasonable to just sort of integrate it here. Above, those are little mirrors. We didn’t buy one. We would apparently prefer using semi-reflective bus windows to apply our make-up. Tss.
It’s a little bit of a kick-off to our little Mexico-centric packaging smorgasbord (with, this time, the technically successful use of the photo album), straight outta Playa Del Carmen. Our favorite thing about “Playa” was the women our mom’s age drinking pina coladas at nine in the morning, and then shouting things across the street to each other. Things like, “You look like such a native!” A native of Westchester, this is, in her J. Crew shorts. Seriously. But they weren’t being sarcastic. Then there were the women who collectively accused the American ticket agent of neglecting to return their boarding passes, which she had, and which they eventually recognized. “Good girl,” one said to the middle-aged ticket rep. Honestly honestly honestly, we’re supporting an amendment in which patronizing bitches don’t get passports.
Today we were on a plane, and we sat next to an 11-year-old, the kind of 11-year-old who makes you text things like “You know who’s [our] favorite person to sit next to on the plane? An 11-year-old with sharp elbows and a sugar addiction.” She knocked a Diet Pepsi into our magazine pouch; she laughed at us when we wrapped a jacket around our head so we could hear our Dashboard Confessional (we know: it’s practically retro at this point) over the engines. But then her grandmother yelled at her, which in principle we would not have minded if the yelling had been about harassing her seatmate instead of her general level of intelligence, and then we let her plug her earphones into our laptop and go through our iTunes library.
“Er, Arcade Fire?” we said.
“Do you have any 50 Cent?” she said.
We did not. Or we did, but we did not let her know this. We did, however, have an Eminem CD we’d been forced to purchase at Wal-Mart and, thus, without explicit lyrics. We enjoyed when she asked us how old she we were, and when we told her, screamed “You’re 30!” down the aisle. We also enjoyed it when her grandmother said we were lying to her. We were surprised, and pleased, when she hugged us goodbye.
Kids are weird, is all we’re saying. This post has nothing to do with kids. The problem is that fucking fucking fucking American Airlines is run by a collection of mice and hamsters, and the bag-handling skills of mice and hamsters is so poor that it kept us in the airport until it was too late to call anyone we know and tell them how despite knowing better, we let a sugar-addled 11-year-old listen to rap music so that she would think we were “cool.”
“So anyway,” is the only way we know how to get out of that story. So anyway, this is the debut of a new column here, which we will probably do once and forget, like le pauvre Extreme Makeover: Home Edition live blog. This is where we pick a website, order something from it, and then tell you what that is like. Unbelievably, we were once paid a dollar a word to do this. Now we are paid in love. We dream about the money.
Moving forward! For our inaugural purchases, we went with Fred Flare. To be honest, there was so much we wanted to buy, we had to make up a little slide show. You can see how this column is nothing more than an excuse for us to buy shit online.
Anyhoo:
Site: fredflare.com Vibe: Urbn [sic] but cheaper What We Bought: The DIY Handbook ($19.95), the daisy tote, ($12), and the lamb tee ($9.99) (see t-shirt of the week) What We Spent: $41.94, plus $6.95 shipping for UPS ground. Next-day is $30.95 Our Favorite Thing: Besides the stock: Pick up your order for free in Willamsburg. That is so random. N. 10th Street between Driggs and Bedford. Honestly, that just amazes us. Ease of Use: Occasionally we find ourselves screaming in frustration at website. This was not one of those times. Love of Wares: High. The, er, conceit of this piece only necessitates that we buy one thing, but there was so much to love, and most of it cost less than a box of Honey Nut Cheerios, which, by the way, have been absent from our Safeway for the last two weeks. Bizarre. We loved it so much, we made up this little photo album of all the things we liked. We did not anticipate doing this, and then it was a huge failure. So now, we will just say that we will feature a different item every day, or reasonably close to that. You know it’ll be like every ninth day. But: we will try.
Now. Do you have somewhere to recommend, or an e-commerce site you’d like us to try? Just let us know.
We wrote the first draft of this (we know, you’re like: drafts? really? are you sure?) on an airplane, and it was full of complaining, about how our last weekend trip home on an airplane somehow segued into seven-day extravaganza unexpectedly included a trip to Los Angeles to interview a hip-hop star who (a) canceled the morning after we got there, or six hours before the interview, and (b) would wait ten more days to speak with us. We are guessing that it took her these ten days to figure out how to answer all of our questions with a single syllable. God love her, she figured it out.
But now we are off the plane, and we are finding it more difficult to complain. Really, we are feeling quite positive. Positively. Whatever. You know what? We love waitressing. It’s like playing the lottery, every 15 minutes. And Nicole Richie! We understand it now, the Nicole Richie thing. Subtract the famous dad and you have at least some semblance of a self-made starlet. It’s not exactly a self-made woman, but it’s a tiny, tiny, tiny, tiny step in the right direction. We would like to go two ways with this: One, if you live in the same sort of cave (plane-shaped) that we do, buy the Pink “Stupid Girls” video on iTunes (sometimes we have to rewind and rewind the part where she’s like, ‘What happened to the dreams of a girl president? She’s dancing in the video next to 50 Cent.’ That cracks us up. The first time we heard it we were all, “Did she just say ‘”Pull my hair and fuck me” girl’?) And let’s take a look at how people are selling Nicole Richie on eBay. Nobody’s selling Pink. We are pretty sure that is good news for Pink.
This is really what sums it all up for us. ********PARIS HILTON & NICOLE RICHIE CD CLOCK ********* (with GOLD COLOURED HANDS WITH A GOLD SECOND FINGER). Yeah. This is pretty much it.
End time: Apr-30-06 11:12:34 PDT
Buy it now price: $6.24
TEENAGE MILLIONAIRE T-Shirt (S) seen on nicole richie
Honestly, we thoroughly object to these “Teenage Millionaire” t-shirts, unless (a) if it’s not true or (b) you made your money yourself, without help from mommy + daddy. And preferably because you discovered a cancer vaccine, not because you wore a bikini on the cover of Maxim.
End time: Apr-27-06 11:13:15 PDT
SKINNY JOES JEANS SIZE 28 NICOLE RICHIE Joe’s Jeans. From the seller: “Nicole Richie has a pair of these very jeans and if you love her style, you will love these jeans!” We’re sure that’s true. Have we talked about Rachel Zoe is designing her own line of accessories?
Current bid: $20.54
End time: Apr-26-06 01:27:18 PDT
Okay, we have to say that this collage really does more to put us off the oversized sunglasses thing than a thousand … er, whatever else would dissuade us from wearing them. It’s like birth control for oversized sunglasses.
Suggesting once again why we should never, ever enter the business world and expect to leave it wearing anything but a potato sack, we recently saw an advertisement for the "complete New Yorker" on DVD containing "4109 issues. Half a million pages." Now this, we thought, was nearly too good to believe. Our relationship with the New Yorker is like our relationship with Philip Glass, in that there is only a relationship very occasionally, but we wish more often, because we feel so much smarter, worldly, sophisticated, and un-stupid when that relationship exists. Like, once every six or seven months, we’ll say something like, "I was just reading about the Hittites in the new issue of the New Yorker …." And we’ll feel so smart, so fleetingly. This DVD set could offer us nothing short of permanent Hittite-y references.
Getting back to the anti-business world evidence: Such a collection, we thought. How much could something like that cost? 4,109 issues? Well, perhaps, we thought $3,000. Like an encyclopedia, or Flemish tapestries. It does not, in fact, cost $3,000. Sadly, but also auspiciously, it costs $49.95. This means we can afford it. This also means, however, that we will never be titans of industry. We consider it a draw. The Complete New Yorker, available, predictably, at the New Yorker store.
White headbands! Above, at Celine’s spring show. Below, from Walgreen’s, Scunci headbands. OK, so they’re not as head wrap-y as the Celine ones, but still: five for $4.99. Difficult to beat.
Formerly known as the “Sexy Top of the Month,” which, in the end, just seemed too limiting. The point of this post, in any case, isn’t so much the rebranding thing as to ask: Are you getting the Bunnyshop newsletter, which is not, as advertised incorrectly, a daily, inbox-clogging menace, but rather a gentle, weekly moondrop of shopping goodness? Er, whatever that means. Someone came to our apartment recently, someone we otherwise like very much, told us she thought she had mono, and then laid down on our bed. For the kind of slovenly germophones we know ourselves to be, it was Custer’s last stand. We would have burned the sheets if we owned another set. The point of that is to say that we are reasonably sure we have developed her illness.
Ah, anyway: If (a) you were on our newsletter list and (b) we’d remembered to send it this week, you already would have known about this delightful Yuka halter top, 40% off and now $42. Someday we are going to feature a going-out top that is not black. Today is not that day.
However: Perhaps today is the day you will subscribe to the newsletter! E-mail us here.
