Gentle reader,
Have you had the theme song from Friends popping into your head over and over for the past few days? In case you did and couldn’t place it, the most annoying line goes something like “I’ll be there for yooooou, ‘cause you’re there for me tooo-oooo.”
Gentle reader,
Given how influential the HBO series Sex and the City was in spreading the fashion gospel to the masses for a decade, I couldn’t really pass up watching a few minutes of the prequel series The Carrie Diaries when I flipped on the TV yesterday. A few minutes were all I could really take,
Gentle reader,
I felt a little superficial attending a fashion book party last week while our friends in New York were bailing themselves out of a hurricane only to dig themselves out of a snowstorm a few days later. If know my New Yorkers, though, they’d all want to know what to wear when the extreme weather conditions subside, so I coaxed my party cohort DJ Martinez into her best Bananarama-circa-1983 look and made the best of it.
We were the first guests to arrive at Melrose Avenue’s BOA Gallery so I got a chance to check out the book and sample the VeeV açai liqueur cocktails before everyone else got there. The book, Style Protocol by Reinaldo Irizarry, seems to be a good basic men’s guide for dressing. There are tips on choosing the right shoe, tying the right tie and mastering the choice of shirt for your needs, and I’m sure all of those are helpful. I’m just not sure it’s anything you couldn’t find during an evening of Google searches and it’s odd that it seemed so basic considering the fact the very charming Reinaldo and his friends showed up to the party in dinner jackets that appeared to be made from various upholstery fabrics. Hmmm. But the book is cute and could be a good gift for someone who is challenged in the area of sartorial basics.
DJ Martinez and me.
Another area that may be challenging is dressing for those elaborate One-Percent holiday parties now that the Ninety-Nine Percent have triumphed at the polls. I’m the last to mix politics and fashion but I was taken aback when I saw a couple of my most beloved clients the morning after the elections looking like they were ready to cut a bitch. I simply reminded myself that I chose to vote for my civil rights while they were voting for their bank accounts so I couldn’t really hold a grudge. “That’s why we live in a democracy,” I assured them with a smile, and they went on their not-so-merry way.
Gentle reader,
Okay, so I’ve hardly watched anything on TV this past week except the first episode of Revenge which was fine except that the revelation that Victoria Grayson was still alive should have been a lot more shocking than just having Emily show up at the door of Victoria’s hideout on the pretense of helping free her falsely institutionalized daughter. I mean, really? If ABC doesn’t step it up, I’ll be forced to do a fashion addendum to Eric’s scathing critique of 666 Park Avenue.
Madeleine Stowe in ‘Revenge’
Much of the reason for my failure to keep up with the new TV shows is that I’m being forced to watch endless training footage on this season’s accessories from my design house’s Milan office. I’m already a bit put out with Milan in general after the mess of last week’s spring 2013 shows but this really is the last straw. The guy from the styling office is a handsome Italian with pretty eyes and just the right amount of scruff, but watching him pick up and put down those fucking shoes for two hours is just soul crushing. When you add the nonsensical translation that seems voiced by a BBC News anchor who has suffered a stroke and is speaking perfectly pronounced English words in a completely random order, I’m surprised I haven’t downed a bottle of Drano by now. Let’s see if I can do better in explaining next spring’s Paris collections.
It helps that we seem to be getting some clear messages again. Black and white are major players in most of the important collections, Japanese influences are big and the circa-1970 ruffles and full sleeves that we saw at Gucci popped up everywhere.
TUTTLE MODE
by James Tuttle
Gentle reader,
Join me as we scrape the bottom of the barrel that is reality television. Yes, I’m talking about the festival of talentless reality show rejects known as VH1’s Famous Food and don’t pretend you’ve been watching it, either! No one has. The ratings were so low after only a couple of weeks that it’s getting bumped out of its Sunday slot in favor of Behind the Music. Yeah, ouch.
Don’t worry, though. I’m here to catch you up on the whole fabulous train wreck!
Enough with the reality crap. Just give Jake Pavleka his own game show, already.
The idea of the show is pretty straightforward. A group of seven “celebrities” get thirty days or so to open a restaurant and the one who contributes the most gets a share in the place. One of their first ideas these dumb bitches had was to “call the restaurant ‘Fame,’ because we’re all famous!” but I don’t know who half these people are.
TUTTLE MODE
by James Tuttle
Gentle reader,
It took me a while to get around to finally seeing Bravo’s new show Million Dollar Decorators because the commercials for it were so awful. It looks like a bunch of douches with dueling egos who don’t even know each other outside the show pretending to do some fake design projects for the benefit of the cameras. Just name it “Real Housewives of Interior Design” and call it a fucking day.
What recession? The stars of Million Dollar Decorator have BUDGETS, baby.
The show actually begins Housewives-style with the five pretentious Los Angeles-based interior designers making grand pronouncements and then posing awkwardly while crossing their arms and stuff. The attractive Jeffrey Alan Marks proclaims, “I don’t follow the trends, I set them!” Well, he was attractive before he opened his damned mouth.
TUTTLE MODE
by James Tuttle
Gentle Reader,
Are you sitting down? If not, maybe you should be. I have something to tell you. You may have come to know me as an icon of taste and style over these past weeks but I have a terrible admission. I’m not actually perfect. For one thing, my left thumb bends a little crooked, the result of a nasty childhood break. And that’s not the worst of it. I am also recovering from an acute addiction problem.
The last thing I wanted to do was disappoint you, especially now that we’ve become so close. If you think back over our history, we’ve been betrayed by Balmain together, dealt with trampy Housewives, and confronted drag as an art form. You and I have even learned some tricks for the over-40 guy and gone on the lam from the damn mafia, so I feel I should be honest with you. I’m just going to say it. I was addicted to HGTV.
I don’t know how it started. I can’t even remember which show I first watched on this seductive network but it was quickly followed by another and then another until HGTV was on whenever I was home. You have to admit that Candice Olsen does very glamorous work with her gas fireplaces and crystal chandeliers. David Bromstad designed great rooms in the Bay Area, especially when he wasn’t wearing his shirt, before he tanked on the Miami season. Maybe he started wearing his shirt too much.
David Bromstad could really warm up a room without his shirt on. Then he put one on and went to Miami and... ho hum.
And don’t get me started on Sarah’s House! Unbeknownst to them, I was involved a love triangle with Sarah and her witty sidekick Tommy, as they overhauled a sixties suburban split-level one season and then a Victorian farmhouse the next.
The keen-eyed sharp dresser, James Tuttle
TUTTLE MODE
by James Tuttle
Please welcome a new contributor to PFC, James Tuttle. He will be dropping in from time to time with a few bons mots and opinions about fashion and lifestyle.
Gentle reader,
I’m taking a short break from watching a riveting episode of Bad Girls Club to share a thought with you. Well, perhaps a few thoughts.
The most immediate is to dissuade as many as possible from using BGC, as this charming and occasionally violent women’s empowerment show is known to its devotees, as any type of fashion reference. You see, I’ve been in the fashion industry for many years and nearly all of those years have been spent with top designers. Whenever I see a young lady veer toward a selection that is embarrassingly (for her or for me?) too short, too tight or too low and hear her declare that it’s “okay because it’s for the clubs,” I suggest that she go topless and write “SLUT” on her forehead. How’s that for a declaration?
Don’t get me wrong; I’m all for “sexy” but that can be better accomplished with a bare back in a high-necked, long sleeved gown. It doesn’t have to involve every possible inch of skin, even if the young lady is in exquisite physical condition. Unfortunately, they rarely are, even in L.A. I should also mention that my morning commute often takes me past an array of Santa Monica Boulevard’s black trannie hookers before I reach Beverly Hills, and I find that they really give me a sense of perspective on the whole matter of just how much is too much.
On the left: Kate Hudson's back. Seriously sexy. On the right: Jennavacia from BGC's front. Seriously something else.
But enough about me. First, Galliano’s supremely stupid pro-Hitler gaffe (in the Marais of all places!) landed him rightfully in the global Dog House. This fall from grace was especially hard to watch after his couture collection for Dior, based on the work of French fashion illustrator René Gruau, brought tears to my eyes and made me fall in love with the drama of it all a little bit more. Where are we to draw the line between the artist and his work? Hitchcock was a sadistic prick and I still love his films. Picasso was a serial womanizer and a sadistic prick and people still pay millions for his paintings.