I find it offensive

. . . offensive, that instagram has such a low opinion of me. 

The new instagram ads are currently the bane of my existence. The below is a sampling of the total garbage Instagram has targeted me with. 

1: Crocs - are you effing kidding me (see croc-a-doodle-eww)
2: Yellow Tail - sangria no less - finally suspicions about the dregs from leftover bottles being compiled into one vile vintage are confirmed.
3: shed-defender - i'm a cat person. fuck off.
4: weetabix - I'm gluten free. Kidding, but wheat makes me ultra gassy. Also: we da cyclists we da wtf? 

Instagram I loved you. every time i posted a pic of my little creations, then got a 'like' was akin to opening a wee pressie. Joy! Now - nightmares. Croc-wearing, yellow tail vomiting, dog hair gagging, convulsive farting nightmares. Sort out your algorithms for pete's sake. I WILL report the crap out of you. 

 

 

Haute Couture AW16

Relax. My bi-annual review of the Haute Couture shows is here.
It was a mixed bag. (see collage)

I’ll go as far as saying none of the collections were entirely terrible. Avant Garde to unintentionally comical (Maison Marigela) sure, predictably prom (Elie Saab) yes. But there was nothing overwhelmingly awful. Actually Guo Pei was hysterically awful.

Like I (and all fashion writers) always say – three makes a trend.  In the case of the ‘naked dress’ I think it’s safe to say it’s more of an epidemic. As usual we were beaten over the head with that tiresome look thanks to . . . almost everyone. In particular the lace and sequin encrusted numbers by Alexandre Vauthier, Zuhair Murad, and the bizarre "mother daughter" display from Elie Saab.

pomo-lizzy-anne.jpg

Giambattista Valli –  At long last a slight diversion from his stereotypical floral mini skirts. This time it was less mod and more modest – with high collars opaque tights and full sleeves. Somewhere between the opulent Romanovs and Victorian romance, GBV gave me hope. Even though he ended the show with his predictable froth of tulle. Siiigh.

J. Mendel - killed it . . . literally. There was a crap-ton of fur.  Having said that it was easily one of my favorite collections. 

Schiaparelli  - breathtaking, and not in a Jerry Seinfeld sort of way.  Elizabeth I ‘s court jester goes to Studio 54 by way of the Big Top.  There was a LOT going on – but done in a miraculously cohesive way. This is the only show I watched multiple times.

Maison Margiela – Possibly the only collection that didn’t deliberately reference an historical theme. Instead, like a seagull caught in a beer ring Galliano’s latest effort was tightly tangled in a fishing narrative. Like a mess of flotsam hauled up from the ocean floor, there were nets, plastic and semi-digested feathers adorning everything from slickers to bonnets.  I didn’t hate it.

Viktor & Rolf - One word; Hobo. The good kind. It was a rags to literal riches story. Think Hollywood’s Artful Dodger - complete with jaunty bedraggled top hat and pockets full of buttons and jewels. But with way more ruffles.

Valentino - Big news Maria Grazia Churi is leaving Pier Paolo Piccoli and Maison Valentino for Dior.  Here’s hoping the rock-stud shoes go with her. This will be their last Haute Couture show as co-creative directors.  The show was a blatant, albeit gorgeous nod to the fashion stylings of Elizabethan England.  The only thing missing was a chopping block and Anne of Cleaves (yes I know she wasn’t beheaded but I need a segue). 

And speaking of Cleaves . . . here are the trends as I see them.

Cleavage cut outs:
Several designers not so subtly pointed directly to the chesticles by way of triangular cut outs.

Elizabethan:
bloomers, ermine, full sleeves, corsets, tufting, tapestry the list goes on.

Victorian:
encompassing the full spectrum of the era from early vic with enormous full skirts, collapsed shoulders, and elongated bodices to the latter Vic of lace, high collars and puff sleeves.

Medieval:  
fur, Dalmatian sleeves, buttons, chainmaille(ish) 

Ruffs: 
Who needs a bib when you’ve got a ruff? As chic as they looked on the catwalk I couldn’t help drawing parallels between ruffs and these.

Puff Sleeves: 
Anne Shirley would’ve gone berserk for AW16 Haute Couture. Puff sleeves abound and in degrees from subdued to buoyant.

Pomo:
When the 70’s just won’t do. pastels to neon, power suits and un underlying vague element of sleaziness. The decade of excess ornament prevailed. Again.

Underpants:
It’s been 3 years. We get it. 

Cold Shoulders: 
After exposing pretty much everything, designers are hanging on for dear life to the exposed shoulder. And frankly, I can’t get enough. This season it was less about the cut-away and more about a subtle to dramatic slouch.

Collar Bones:  
Sweet-heart, scoop and square - wide necklines put those ever-so titillating clavicles on display.

Swashes of Taffeta:
it’s happening. see Pomo.

A collection of my top pics. If you agree with 50% of them you have superb taste. 

Swoon

The single worst thing to hit the catwalk since Rick Owens 'human backpack' fiasco. 

Gag

If some is good more is god awful - Guo Pei Haute Couture AW16

The cookie that Maca-ruined everything.

Right up there withe red velvet anything are the insipid little sugar patties called macaron. Extraordinarily laborious to construct, they are maybe the most overrated (and over-instagrammed) cookie of all time. 

My biggest grievance however isn't with the confections inane colors and horrific flavors. It's the people that call them macaroons. Macaroons are simple and delicious. Macaron are the exact opposite.  Their great great great great great grandfather's may have been the same. But macaroons and macarons are bastard cousins at best. 

GREAT NEWS

At long last my personality type has been identified. Thanks to a thoughtful email and link supplied by my Dad.

I am a Curmudgeon - a chip off the old cranky block.

There are some questionable requirements in being considered a curmudgeon. ie: Being an artist disqualifies, yet being penniless and/or unemployed is a must? Hand in hand my friend. Hand in hand.

If you don't want to read the full article (enlightening) here are the most pertinent excerpts. 

Most qualifying characteristics as held by me:

  1. "Delicacy, prettiness, warmth, softness, sweetness, sparkle - pretty well define what a curmudgeon is not."
  2. "Humanity is of little or no interest to a curmudgeon; what he most desires from others is that they would leave him alone."
  3. "Curmudgeonly Communication - There isn't any. Note that communication has to do with people understanding you and coming back with ideas of their own. Remember, it doesn't matter if people understand you. They ought to, and if they don't, it's their own fault."
  4. "A curmudgeon should either be capable of saying "Harrumph", "Humph", or "Hmmf" convincingly. How do you know if you are convincing? When you say it, people should look taken aback or even offended."
  5. "The ideal curmudgeon is retired. If that is not possible, almost-penniless unemployment is pretty good. Really, anything will work if it is not touchy-feely or likely to spread happiness and joy."
  6. "Like a curmudgeon, the female equivalent can even be rather lovable, and essential to the character of the neighborhood. One example would be the general's housekeeper in the movie White Christmas" - refer to term battleaxe.

To do:

  1. "Attend a finishing school to learn how to be excruciatingly polite and have proper timing, which for a curmudgeon means being slightly off. Anyone trying to shake your hand should miss it, anyone trying to hug you should meet your shoulder instead."

Now get off my porch!

Girl? Boy? Who gives a shit.

I'm going to preface this post by saying I'm a huge bitch. To many of you this comes as no surprise. 

So let's get down to business. Babies: They all look alike. And by that I mean - unless a parent is dressing them a deliberate way, it's incredibly difficult to tell the gender of an infant. But who the hell cares anyway? 

Specifically with baby girls, it seems parents (and I'm guessing it's primarily mothers) are infuriated when people mistake their girls for boys. When a full pink ensemble just won't do - Enter: god-awful headbands. Glorified elastics adorned with butterflies, flowers and shame, these ridiculous things are suffocating tiny craniums in order to distinguish that yes, this pooping, gurgling blob is in fact a girl. 

Now that you know my stand on baby accessories I can tell you that I recently I got the best gift ever. It was by way of text and in the shape of a blurry photograph. 

My issues with this poster:

1. Headbands should be outlawed to begin with. They're just plain dumb. 

2.  I find the sentimental value statement mildly dubious. The blankie I've had since birth has sentimental value. It's 40 years old, made by my godmother and an entire corner has been nibbled away. This is a headband belonging to a child who by the looks of it is, I don't know 8 months old? 

3. Horribly misleading phrasing. MISSING punctuated by baby pictures. The word LOST may have been more appropriate. Also maybe only one cropped image of JUST the headband. 

4. What's the reward? I shudder to think. 

Told you. HUGE bitch. 

Is it bad . . .

That my favorite thing to do in the world is watch TV? I mean tonight for instance, I can't think of anything I'd rather do than turn on Arachnophobia and eat potato chips. Unless it was turn on Arachnophobia and eat Cheezies?

TV is the best. I can totally unwind - my mind goes blank (more blank than normal) and I can relax. It helps me sleep, it helps me forget, it makes me happy. It is my heroine. 

Here's the Arachnophobia Trailer. Tell me I'm crazy. 

Remember when . . .

I'm feeling nostalgic. So what else is new. Specifically I'm nostalgic for London. A city I clearly don't recall loathing on a daily basis. All I choose to remember is its charming quirkiness and the total gas I had living there. 

I've decided to revisit some of my writings of the time and I've decided to inflict this hilarity on you may faithful reader(s). Yes, all six of you.

Backstory: I lived in a terrific (and uncharacteristically humongous) flat in Southwark. Across the road was a dodgy-as-fuck half-way house. It provided hours of entertainment and a general sense of uneasiness.

Lets reminisce shall we?

I’ve mentioned the house for the derelict and permanently drunk that’s located across the street? Well, we can add insane to that list of credentials. As I was hanging out my window yesterday I spotted a shifty character come out of  the “shelter” across the way. So far nothing too out of the ordinary. Except upon close inspection I actually read what was on this fella’s t-shirt. Bearing in mind he was weaving all over the road. Difficult to focus. In scrawled, what looked to be printing done in liquid paper. In a very either avant garde or slightly more likely, hasty intoxicated fashion he had written on the front 100% MAD. Super. The really swell part was when I got a look at the back, and it read 200% CRAZY. Super-duper. I think that just about sums up the caliber of resident across the street. Send me your loving thoughts now, cause tomorrow it may be too late. This of course coming from the girl who dragged a door home from under the overpass down the road b/c she thought it looked pretty. Hey kettle, you’re black. 

The End.

For now at least - tune in again next time for more drivel.

Valentines, sh-malentines con't

We want you're opinion. But only if its positive.

Not really - be honest, because lets face it, if people were all sweetness and light all the time it would be quite difficult to to take anyones opinion seriously. 

We've got fortune cookies with pick-up lines (bad ones obviously), lonely bubbles and a sappy scholastic heart. 

Like the classics? Shop them here: 

IMG_1104.JPG

Let's be honest.

In two short weeks you better have something to pull out of your ass at the 11th hour.

Mom: Sure she changed your soiled pampers and loves you unconditionally - but when push comes to Mother's Day those nostalgic tidbits get swept under the rug (just like the dust bunnies you were supposed to sweep up back in 1988). So in the spirit of being a sub-par child, stick to what you do best - the bare minimum. 

New Mother's Day card. It smacks of thoughtlessness and is 100% available - email@sayitwithsarcasm for deets. A sweeter Mother's Day card can be purchased here:

Spirograph in the sky.

Brace yourself - I'm in a good mood.

No, hell has not frozen over. It was however sunny in Vancouver - so same diff. I had a great day today - and I have art to thank for that. Well, art and Instagram. Social media is my favorite right now, next to my blankie that is. Due to the cleverness of one of the instagrammers I stalk, I was privy to information I probably wouldn't have found out about until it was yesterday's news. 

This morning as I was pawing through my instagram feed, I was thrilled to find out that the buzzed about Janet Echelman ariel sculpture was currently being suspended across the Vancouver harbour. From the moment I heard about Echelman I was intrigued. To someone who doesn't know her work (and assuming I didn't have a photograph right over there) I would describe it as the love-child of Georgia O'Keefe and spirograph - except far bigger, three dimensional and highly impressive. 

There's currently still a KickStarter campaign to help funding and the "rewards" are pretty dope. The sculpture is being installed to coincide with Vancouver hosting the equally buzzed about TED Talks. 

Bottom line: I'm super jazzed about all of the above. In my opinion Echelman's "Skies Painted with Unnumbered Sparks" although a lengthy title (and lengthy sculpture - 745 ft) it's vastly more interesting than those god-awful creepy cackling bronze figures “A-maze-ing Laughter” (probably why  hate it) at English Bay.

Yay public art!

suck it up buttercup

The most dreaded day of the year is tomorrow people - whether you're the ill-prepared half of a doomed couple or just your average clueless twat; Valentine's Day is what nightmares are made of. Scrap the sentimentality, valentine cards aren't just for the ones you call Chipmunk - they're also for your embittered single friends. Tell them you "don't give a rat's ass" with a gentle reminder that they're alone, and if they keep up their whining they always will be.

the remains of the day.

And that day was the 25th of December. 

It's over people. There are still macabre traces of Christmas. Notice this self-serving santa looming over a lynched snowman - obviously part of a love triangle that went horrible wrong, based on the face-down-in-her-own-filth angel right next door.

photo 2 (1).JPG

This decoration neglect is barely forgivable as we enter the second week of 2014. What you do inside your own home is your business, but if it's on display for the neighborhood to see, that's an entirely different story. 

antlers.jpg

Worse still - and I think we all know how I feel about reindeer antlers on cars when they're "functioning" (if that's what you'd call it) properly - and entirely inexcusable is when one antler is missing off your stupid PT Cruiser . Two antlers are bad enough, but one - thats just ridiculous, not to mention extraordinarily lazy.

Pack it in folks. Valentines Day is a month away. It's time to put away soggy red noses only to be replaced by  snoggy noses. 

Ah-MAZING - Ah, Spare me.

amaze verb \ə-ˈmāz\amazedamaz·ing

Hands down the most overused adjective in the past 2 years. I'm finding it increasingly grating. All I have to hear is that breath of air before the stalled "ah" and my eye begins twitching. "AH - MAAAZING!" - the national battle cry of 20-30 something women. Used to praise anything from a balled up pair of socks to skydiving. There's got to be a barometer for its use.

photo 1

photo 1

Things that aren't amazing:

  • your friend's homemade chutney - it's palatable and/or delicious.
  • a kitten pushing a shopping cart that carries another kitten - it's adorable and/or ridiculous.
  • a 40 year old flying down a slip and slide - it's hilarious and/or dangerous

Things that are amazing:

  • The Pyramids
  • Space travel (can also be filed under terrifying)
  • Surviving a cardiac arrest in a deserted parking-lot at the age of 35. (can also be filed under dumb luck)

Using a combination of shame and eye-rolls, I have successfully conditioned one friend (culprit) to curb her amazing usage - at least when she's around me.

Here's a list of synonyms to help break the cycle.

  • surprising
  • astonishing
  • astounding
  • shocking
  • startling
  • extraordinary
  • wonderful
  • marvelous
  • tremendous
  • remarkable
  • stunning  (runs a close second to amazing)
  • incredible (runs a close third to amazing)

Start listening/watching for the A-word in conversation, Instagram comments, Facebook status and tweets - you'll be sharing in my agony in no time.

Next up: Hashtags - Living with an addiction.

Only the Lonely?

Up until about 5 years ago I didn't think anything of being an only child. Actually I still don't think much of it. What's the big deal? Sure it's slightly uncommon, but what's with all of the negative stereotypes associated with only children? Blah blah blah, spoiled and self centred - I get that  . . .  in theory. But the pity? I'm increasingly surprised to hear pity in peoples voices when they hear I'm an only child. Q: "Don't you wish you had a sibling growing up?" A: "Not especially . . . no." blinking*

This recently tainted perspective was driven home after I read a Globe and Mail article by Lauren Sandler. Being "self centred", I desperatly want to read her book One and Only. Not everyone thinks they have the best parents or upbringing, but I think mine was pretty damn great and I believe part of the reason was that I am an only child.

siiiiiiigh*

Sure, I was either very well planned or a colossal mistake. In the mid 70's, after nine years of marriage my folks decided to have a baby. Lucky for everyone I was a girl. As the person who sent me an ExpressPost envelope including the Lauren Sandler article and a handful of Baby-Bels, my mother continues to dote on me (even at age 37). She was a born mother, but only ever wanted ONE. My folks were the only couple in their group of friends who had a child. They were undoubtably  those annoying people who took their daughter everywhere. Fortunately I was far better behaved then than I am now. Those were still the days of "seen and not heard". Fine by me. I always had a supply of coloring books or Hot Wheels to keep me entertained should the "adult conversation" extend beyond my elementary ears.

I used to have a friend that complained that I had never been to the end of the island that we lived on. I used to answer: "No, but I've been on safari." That shut him up. As Lauren Sandler mentions, the finacial ease is significant with only one. My parents could afford to globe-trot and take me with them. Plus they knew:

a. I'd be well behaved b. I'd appreciate the experience c. It wasn't going to bankrupt them.

Sadly it's not 1984 and any unequipped moron can have as many kids as they bloody well please. I don't know if I'll have one, three or zero children. All I know is, only children are people too . . . except smarter, more independent and better looking.