wwwwelcome back W

july W! fashion content! for real! no jokes! the bikini ready mag profiles 12 up and coming (well, up and coming for the pages of W, cushnie & ochs and the lake and stars have been around just not hyper-exploded like an alexander wang) and has a comically written article about gloria vanderbilt's erotic mini-novel (did you know, she is anderson coopers mom? you do now) also, all of the ads being pulled makes for a light, improved read that relies on content-shock!-and not 40milli make up ads. kudoos W.

plastic surgery on the decline; much like patient's neck skin

Both NYT and W have pinned plastic surgery as their page turning fodder for the present. One, NYT, about the horrific decline in such luxxxuries as getting to have your face poked at every week and W covering the decline in patient's desire for carnal pleasures after getting their face poked at. I am, gleefully, more interested in the NYT article, but I'll get to that. W is pushing the thought path that today's patients don't have much time outside of their micromanaged eating plans and board meeting plans for freaking plans. Noting, that patients rank sex below work, diet, and excercise on a scale of importance and instead gauge internal hotness on how many people are leering at their deform-o body slinking down 5th ave. Firstly, what sane, non-serial killer man likes a woman who's face, and likely body, is taped and pinned together? Maybe ones that enjoy their sig.other as a vanity piece more than an agent of love. The bright spot, comes at the end of the piece where doctors note that some patients cannot wait to get back into the sack after surgery and end up causing themselves some serious harm. The patients are older men with much younger girlfriends. Maybe you don't find it funny, but the idea of a mummy wrapped old dude and a idiotic gold digger-who is likely enhanced herself- kind of tickles my funny bone.
NYT, slightly more scholarly in their prose, brings in a little logic starting off with bringing a little reality to a highly fanciful lifestyle; "On television, reality shows like “Extreme Makeover” and “Dr. 90210” normalized vanity medicine, making cosmetic operations seem cuddly and carefree. Meanwhile, lenders rushed in to offer specialized lines of credit for cosmetic procedures."
Though, the article is not without some quotes that may as well be pointed jokes at the target viewer. Pls see; “Let’s face it, if you don’t look great, you are not going to your reunion and you are not going on Facebook,”. The individual then describes that she now takes gym classes instead of using a personal trainer, but anti-wrinkle injections are a MUST. Another woman, (no men were quoted on the cutting back on their botox and boob jobs) proudly states that she got a haircut that includes BANGS(revolutionary!) to conceal the botox evaporating from her furrowed brow leaving her with what likely looks like a quick sand pit under some highlighted fringe. Also, I would like to note that she mentions reunion and facebook as a hand in hand activity; If you are old enough to have a class reunion, have botox, you need a life, not facebook status.
The luxury beauty business, proceedures included, started out in this friviolty decline sitting pretty, reasoning that while a client may not be able to afford an 800K watch or 150K organza top, they will never forsake their face and will make room for little cosmetic luxuries to pad their safe room that sits below their penthouse suite. But, not so, every luxury avenue in the U.S is hurting; people are buying cheaper cosmetics, mixing and matching nail color, using at home acne remedies as opposed to laser treatments. The beauty bubble, along with the luxury bubble, have burst. Mainly, I am psyched for the day when covens of augmented powerhouses's faces appear to melt off with small Nelly band-aids holding their noses in place and breasts erect in last season's frock. Aren't you excited that these events are how a reality clip show will classify our current time period? It'll make for exciting tv atleast.

conglomerate cop-out

Looks like with Conde Nast folding some of its papers and consolidating others, W -the magazine I formerly loved in the flush of youth, now I'm getting annoyed with it's bad habits in old age- is fast becoming a catchall for all the offal the other doomed diaries leave behind. To back track to the upsets at the Conde Bldg. here is a run down of their current troubles: Portfolio has less issues a year, Men's Vogue is being folded into Reg. Vogue (take that Sean Avery!), Rumors of Anna Wintour leaving as EIC of Vogue only to be succeeded by none other than CARINE ROITFELD (I fucking hope!) AND! NO HOLIDAY PARTY!
Back to W, seriously, it's getting old. It's no better than American Vogue anymore. Celebrities on every cover for at least the past 6 months, my hands down favorite being Angelina Jolie on the cover of the ART ISSUE. Even my brainy, art imbibed, sig other-who is usually impervious to women's magazines-scoffed and sighed when he saw the nonsense they were peddling in that particular issue.
This issue, December, which I have yet to even get all the way through because, at my age, I am NOT interested in some tv-drama character-ess pouting through the pages because she, apparently, with being conventionally pretty and fairly tall, is a model now, but you know, she has a career too, like, doing stuff.
Not to be out-shone by the clever cover lines and cover choice, you also get what seems like A MILLION FUCKING PAGES OF WATCHES. Ranging from a modest $84,000 (Chanel) to an aspirational-or asphyxiational depending on who you ask- $800,000 (De Beers). Seriously, watches, as an item, are for the poor; for people who need to know what time it is. To have a watch that costs more than a NYC condo is ludicrous. If you are that rich you have no use for the construct of time; you can pay someone to wear your bedazzled time piece(as fancy watches are called) and tell you the time in the native tongue of whichever far flung locale you are currently detoxing in. To top it off, the watches themselves aren't even all that great to look at! They are so adorned that even a rapping guest on Cribs would find the piece a little outre.
Oh, but it's not over, you then are treated to a food article that I can sum up in 10 words: Who is a thin, pretentious, glutton? So sorry, not you.
A stimulating two pages of "Celebrities are rich, thin, eat astronomically expensive and rare food, but not pedestrian items like spinach-artichoke dip. I would rather die, or give up the treat that is cold bone marrow, than eat that slop. Though, ramen noodles are cool because they are kitschy. Oh, exercise 2 hour a day and maybe you wouldn't be such a poor, fat-ass, dear reader. P.s. you're POOOORRRRRRRRRR and uncultured! lol"
W is becoming that girl in middle school that thinks she is so cool because she has her mom's hand-me-down Coach bag and is totally getting a Beemer for her 15th birthday even though she doesn't get her license for another year (yeah, she failed 1st grade, but that's because the teacher didn't see her true genius). She is the leader of the popular girls despite the fact she has a dog-face and frizzy hair; the other kids probably only like her because she has a trampoline and her parent's let her read Cosmo and watch Cinemax.
In a nutshell, or a $3000 Tumi hat box, W, you've got to go. We really can't do this anymore, pack your monogrammed luggage, take those Cheetos you are hiding behind the water heater and get out of my house. I don't want to see you anymore, you need an intervention, you're out of control, and I just don't love you enough anymore to call and get you on the show. Sorry, it's not me, it's you.

W-tf

W, wtf. This month's issue is about some shit: blah blah blah..anne hathaway..blah blah blah..dakota fanning..blah blah blah...ralph rucci. Which is well and good for a fashion/culture magazine. It is only natural that they would profile a few iconic, emerging, notable figures that would hold some relevance to their audience. However, what is puzzling and vaguely offensive is the way their writer's handle the diction of their interviews. In the editor's forward regarding Anne Hathaway, there is not only gratuitous mention of Mlle. Hathaway's disastrous love life (she essentially was conned by some guido who was also conning everyone else), but in the same breath of prose they paint her as a bratty naif AND manage to highlight the erratic nature of male actors that have little to nothing to do with Hathaway, but are featured with interview later in the issue. Then, close their run-down of 'emotional disorders of the rich and famous' with "a note to Hathaway: he's single".
In the Ralph Rucci article, they manage to make the designer seem at times anti-current, neurotic, self-effacing, and subversively ego maniacal. Also, they take a stab at Margiela (oh NO you didddnnttttttt chica) who is very anti-publicity -ex: corresponds in to his rare interviews via fax and is never photographed- by calling his activities 'schtick' while using his product a few pages later in an accessories report.
Despite my general, neutrality or minor-distaste for the featured figures in this month's W, I cannot get over how thickly smarmy their coverage of these individuals comes across to the reader. It is as though there is a recurring subtext of, 'these people are totally NOT cool but we felt like doing a good deed and deigning to let them into our aspirational pages, but fyi we still think they are L-O-S-ERS'. Even though W, is more of an industry magazine than Cosmo, and often is elitist they really shouldn't make reading through the lines so easy that, even hung-over at 8am on a Sunday, I can be creeped out by their actions.

sept. fashion style layouts

I was having a conversation with a very creative minded male about my distaste for current editorials that reference Russo-Boudoire-Jazz Age-20s-head-dress-styling. After remarking that, granted, I don't like them partially because I never was and probably never will be 'into' the 20s other than as a historical reference for cut and drape. Adding that, generally, a lot of females are so in love with the 20s that it is bar none, their favorite time period. Which, illicits this response from the attentive partner "I bet you wouldn't like the 20s so much if you lived there, now would you? You'd have no job, no eats, be knocked up, and there's no drank. Bummer" So to make this worthwhile, you can make your own decisions from Vogue's Sept 07 Editorial and W's Sept 07 Editorial with Gwyneth Paltrow; the W just looks fresher and not as played out. /minirant