Victor/Victoria?: The Menswear Trend in Women’s Fashion

Gentle reader,

All day I’ve wracked my poor brain trying to think of a fresh angle on fashion to bring you.  I thought about it at the gym when I wasn’t calculating how many more reality TV “celebrities” will have to start working out there to outnumber the gay porn stars.  And I thought about it on my hike to the Hollywood sign until I heard a booming loudspeaker ordering silly tourists, no doubt, to stop trying to climb the hill up to the letters.  I swear, they should shoot just one of them and this perennial problem would be solved.  They wouldn’t even have to aim for the head. 

James Magnussen Naked

Pass the Torch: Olympic Fashion 2012

Gentle reader,

I trust you’ve been in good hands as I took a week off to run around the hottest bits of California, first to visit my parents on the edge of the scorched plains of the vast Central Valley then off for some leisurely pool time in sunny Palm Springs, where opening the door of a parked car feels rather like setting off a nuclear blast.  I’m willing to cut the locals a little slack due to the extreme conditions, but I have to say, as far as summertime fashion goes, the Californians ain’t bringin’ it.  Particularly guilty are the Palm Springs Gays, who have a long history of dressing for the hotter climes and should know how to do it better.  I took Scott and his colorfully turned-out mum Stacie to the popular Happy Hour at Azul on Palm Canyon and felt like we were surrounded by a bunch of thirsty lizards wearing cheap shirts and ugly shoes.  It was slightly better at upscale Tropicale the next day, but I still expect more.  Palm Springs Gays, consider this your warning.

Palm Springs Flowers

The best-dressed gays in Palm Springs.

While I was out there, The Olympics happened.  Or, at least, they started to happen.  The Opening Ceremonies demonstrated how, in the slowest transition in theatre history, the Agrarian Age gave way to the Industrial Age, then a bunch of Mary Poppinses chased off a giant Voldemort puppet before a colossal creepy baby appeared, I think, in a crib.  But that might have been the margaritas talking.