Fashion Advice From GOOP

She's baaack. And no, I will not be mixing wacky prints. You try that and you're one step away from looking like the cleaning lady that takes the bus to the rich people's neighborhoods every morning. You know, the poor gal got some hand-me-downs from her employer and wanted to show off all the designer labels at once. Not hot, unless you are heading straight from cleaning toilets to auditions for a John Waters movie.

The rest of the advice is pretty good. I will be rocking my riding boots this fall, along with lots of tights (help! I can't find any good knits!) and fitted jackets. Mini skirts are always good and I'm still on the hunt for the perfect pea coat. I got the fake fur jacket. Only $20 at a thrift shop!
It looks real, right? It's a good thing we don't have a lot of PETA crazies here in Ohio. I don't want any red paint thrown on me, though the coat is machine washable. Brilliant!

See, you don't need a lot of money to look good. Like I could afford to shop at Kirna Zabete. Maybe I could come out of there with a pair of socks. MAYBE.

Definitely Airbrushed

I saw the original right after it was taken. It was a Polaroid 20x24 camera. It spit out the prints just like a regular 2x2 that you buy at the drug store. My butt was showing some cheek. As for the perfect white skin? All natural, of course. If you don't count the layer of kabuki powder.

This ad was in every magazine back then so I best let you know, it was for a perfume/bath oil called ONE from 1991. I have no idea what it smelled like. Over-used curling irons and fancy schmancy sheets from the clearance rack at Bloomingdales? That's my guess.

Airbrushed?

David LaChapelle took this one all the way back in '86. I'm not sure how much he airbrushed. Hopefully just the dress? I dunno. I cut that part out of the picture. I don't even remember what magazine it was in. I do remember that he liked to make the edges of his pictures fuzzy back then, and I had some beautiful prints he gave me that some ex-boyfriend is holding hostage in a storage space in New York. What an asshole. The ex, not David. David got me started. I would not have had a portfolio if he hadn't taken an interest in me. I would have had a much harder time getting signed, not that I gave a shit. Modeling came to me, not the other way around, and as obnoxious as that sounds, it's true. I moved to New York in January of 1985 because I fell in love with it two months before. I had no aspirations of fame or fortune. I just wanted to get the hell out of Akron, Ohio. You would too. Trust me.

P.S. If you're young and you are reading this, take lots of pictures of yourself. Be creative, have fun. Get your friends in on it. My old friend recently showed me some photos another friend took of us in college, ones where we were trying to be all arty and shit. They were AWESOME. Trust me, when you are my age, you will relish those memories. You will love giggling over your first forays into creative visual expression. As a matter of fact, do it whether you are 18 or 48. Who cares? You'll still always be looking back, you know?

Michigan House

Here are some photographs I took of my friend's cute and kitsch weekend home in Union pier, Michigan. It's for sale, by the way. Not including antiques, of course (unless you're easily impressed by my persistent proclamations that they are worth the extra hundred grand I will insist he add on to the price).

Hallway mirror and chiffonier- worth almost as much as the clock that sits there and doesn't tell time.
I love this kitchen. I don't remember anything that ever happens there, but a case of wine in three days will do that to you. Do gays roofie straight girls?

Mark has a thing for Chinoiserie. I do too. I will not fault him for it. He discovered happy endings in Thailand and won't shut up about it, something about their love of tapioca. Not sure. I never really listen after the third glass of Malbec.

The dining room. A place to hang your coat, drop your stuff as you come in from the outside. Have we actually eaten at the table? Why bother actually sitting down when we never stop eating or drinking the entire time we're there? That isn't completely true. We do take breaks to make bitchy comments while watching cooking shows and Tosh.0. And flash pizza delivery guys. I'm famous in Union Pier, bitches. Jealous much?

Entryway and living room beyond. You have no idea how many times I have wanted to drop stuff on Mark when he comes home. He uses the rear entrance, sadly. Always trying to stay on top of things, so to speak.

Our room when we visit. It's like sleeping in a tree house. Mark made the quilted headboard himself. Mr. McSlore and I helped decorate it, but you need one of those fancy CSI blue lights to see the pretty designs. Sorry.

The house really is for sale. If you're interested in owning a beautiful house an hour and a half outside of Chicago in Harbor Country, email me. I'll give you all the details. I'm sure he'll throw the headboard in with the listed price, if you ask real nice.

I Made Some New Friends

He looks like a bat. I wish he was a bat. He could have eaten all the mosquito bugs and saved me a week of nasty itchy bites.


So, Mr. McSlore and I took a little vacation on the shores of Lake Michigan this past week. I have a friend who has a cute as a button house in Harbor Country, and we were visited by some midget mischief makers,

one of whom still has his balls!

This is Aidan. He likes to ride down sand dunes face first and then hack it all up on the shiny wood floors he can't grip. He hates those floors. They make him take mincing Nancy-boy steps every time he wants to navigate to the kitchen area for free handouts.

This is Luke. He is sweet as pie.

How do i know this?

His brother never stops licking him.

His fur looks like a cowhide. Perchance, on the sad day of his passing, some little girl will receive a couture worthy Ralph Lauren-esque cowhide print coat for her Barbie? It's what Karl would do.

Just don't make him into these-

There's a circle of hell waiting for you if you do. I'll be waiting in my Crocs.

Now, excuse me while I nap and fart before my Daddy takes me back to Chicago.

The dog. Not me. I fart, THEN nap.