Bless You, Jackson Rathbone

Bless you.

You’re keeping the dream of the terrible crack-den velvet suit alive while Rpattz is indisposed. (And of course by “indisposed,” I mean “barred from dressing himself.”)

Feel free to return to your rock-star-wannabe ways as soon as Rpattz is off contract for the Twi-series, when he can return to his former glory as a hobo.

[Source for the Rathbone pic: T&L.]

Advertisements

Tie ’em Right

Try again, Stylist.

Dear designers and stylists of the world:

Is it really that hard to research the proper way to tie a pointe shoe*? I mean, if you’re going to reference ballet costumes so far as to actually purchase the shoes that professional ballet dancers wear, don’t you think you could at least GET IT RIGHT? Ballet is not, in fact, an obscure art.

Look, I even found you a reference photo from Wikipedia:

(via wikipedia. WIKIPEDIA!)

Seriously.

[Image via Tom & Lorenzo.com]

*No, it’s not. I found this fantastic tutorial in about 10 seconds. You’re welcome.

Oh, Rodarte


Dear lovely ladies of Rodarte,

Your dresses are exquisite. The craftsmanship is always beyond amazing. I am absolutely amazed when I imagine how much work and thought goes into every look. These dresses mean something, even though I’m not always sure exactly what, and they make sense when so many collections seem haphazard and rushed.

This season’s collection is beautiful, even though it looks like you sometimes wrapped the models in aluminum foil. I especially love the fuzzy sweaters, they would be perfect for next winter. The more I look at the photos of this collection, the more I can’t decide which looks I like the best. I love the geologist/warrior vibe.

One request–would you pleasepleaseplease send me a pair of those boots?

Fondly,
enna.

ยป Photos: tFs and Style.com

Gap in my Memory

Dear Gap,

I’m really not sure why I stopped in today. There hasn’t been anything good in any of your stores, even after the much-celebrated Patrick Robinson took the reigns. Every time I take a peek at your clothes, I expect what you used to be, slightly preppy basics, but you’ve taken this odd sack dress and floral patterns turn that I really don’t like.

I know this must hurt you. I know I haven’t spent money at one of your registers since I bought some ill-fitting jeans and a shrunken grandpa cardigan two years ago. I know you miss me, and feel my absence sharply in your forlorn dressing rooms.

But did you have to stoop this low? You know my weakness for grey tote bags; must you exploit it so callously? Especially when the details are so thoughtfully added, the yellow suede contrast so soft and alluring. Must you go to such lengths to win me back?

Surely, you must, because you also have gracing your walls the perfect pair of striped jeans. You who know I cannot afford a pair of $60 jeans put them in the window to tantalize me, merely to win me back into your good graces.

And then, just when I think I might make it back out into the Gapless world, you ambush me with sandals. Bar one collaboration, your shoes have been ill designed and even more ill fitting. But you knew–oh, you knew– that the surest way to lure me back into your clutches was with a pseudo-hippy sandal, reminiscent of a gladiator draped in flowers. You knew that I would find it difficult to resist such a sure sign of spring.

Oh, Gap, why must you do this to me? I thought we were finished, through forever. Didn’t you once give the “it’s not you, it’s me” speech? Didn’t we decide this was for the best? And yet you expect me to come running back to you, wallet open.

I cannot– must not– give in. I must keep my determination strong. Until you can prove to me that your change of style is true, that you can maintain this delightful improvement, I will not return. But fear not, dear Gap, I will keep watching and waiting. I have highest hopes.

Fondly,
enna.