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Archive for the ‘neck’ Category


In black widow, neck on February 19, 2018 at 8:15am02


1. If offered the job to accouter yourself, what items would you choose?

What if I turned the job down because the pressure was something I didn’t want to take on?

2. Then I’d say too bad because you’re taking the job, okay? 

Listen – and this is me being honest here – it’s not so much the pressure of the job, rather, I’d be giving away the secrets of the person currently wearing me and I like her too much to do that, not to mention, we garments and accessories have this thing called allegiance when it comes to those who don us.

3. Well, aren’t you the bleeding heart. First off, to quell any concerns, you should know no one visits this stupid site and so your girl’s secrets are safe. Second, you already signed the agreement. Do you understand “agreement”? It means you have to answer the question. Answer. 

Then may God have mercy on my soul. Here you go…

A Carine Gilson robe, the Aubade lingerie set, a pair of Elice mules and a single spritz of Quelques Fleurs.





4. See there? That wasn’t so hard. Now, what is a dream the woman wearing you is working on realizing?

To hone the skill of moving through life akin to both Miss Marple and Columbo: Cunningly obtuse.



5. What is something interesting about your woman?

Hmmm… Let me think. Well, she’s part of a local theater production, which is nice. The decision to audition was a sort of lark, right? But after winning the coveted lead role, the play not only became an important part of her life but a subsequent way for her to revisit the person she used to be. You see, on her twentieth birthday, she went off to the big city to tread the boards on the Great White Way, as they say; however, when the dream began to evaporate, around year two, she found herself opting out of auditions and classes at Stella Adler to lurk about Facebook, primarily to see how ex-boyfriends were faring back home. Months into the daily ritual, she had set her sights on Leslie, the tenth-grade ex-boyfriend and still a bit of a soft touch. Ten years on, she’s returned to the part of the country people leave behind in hopes of making it in the city that never sleeps, she’s married to Leslie, who remains a bit of a soft touch, and together they have three wonderful children: Tyler, Grey and Diego. Why, she just sent the last one – Diego – off to kindergarten, which translates to seven, glorious hours alone, five times a week. So yeah… That’s what’s interesting about her. That’s it.


6. What coveted role did she win? 

A small-town black widow who uses belladonna, the devil’s cherry, to kill her husbands. For inspiration and a sturdy character composite, the lovely and amazing woman wearing me  reaches for the yarn her grandma used to spin about the family being descendants of the Borgias. In fact, when she was just a wee one, grandma would pull her aside and tell her how much she resembled Lucrezia. In any case, all told, the black widow kills eight husbands and all of them on the third day after their first year of marriage.


7. Eight?! Clearly, we don’t have Miss Marple nor Columbo on the case. It’s hardly a complicated crime to crack, no? 

Hey, it’s local theater. What do you want? No one’s in this to go head-to-head with a Hitchcockian plot if that’s what you’re thinking. If anything, the one passion all involved in the play share is the need to be away, away from the spouse, from the job, from the sciatica flare-up, from the undulating call of the breast pump, from the unemployment, from the bone spurs, from the student loan, from the possible audit, from the vacuous Twitter rage, from the casual racism, from the ex-girlfriend’s engagement, from the hammertoe, from the leaky faucet, from the mortgage, from from the “will I ever stop renting and actually have a mortgage,” from the high cholesterol, from the trial separation, from the “this is as good as it’s gonna get”… How much more away can one be than to travel into a world where a black widow is snuffing out unsuspecting gentlemen with the help of belladonna? Hell, most of them didn’t even know what belladonna was before reading the script. My point is, the woman wearing me hasn’t felt this alive in years. She’s finding the way back to herself crumb by crumb. She adores her kids but motherhood’s a job. Of course, she loves Leslie but holding him up on a pedestal while hiding her hands was exhausting and turning her into a resentful harridan. I could actually feel the depression setting in. If it weren’t for the play, she would’ve never known why the emotional cavalcade was bearing down. Now, when the children race from the school bus to the front door and when Leslie kicks off his work boots in the garage, they’re each greeted by a woman who’s putting herself first and that’s a priceless gift. Even if they don’t know why she’s content and happy and fulfilled, it means everything to her knowing they’re being received by a wife and mother who wants nothing more than to be right there in the moment with them.


8. Wow. That’s absolutely beautiful. But I’d like to backup to the why you were so reluctant to share the story of your fully-bloomed ingénue’s stunning rebirth, especially when it came to her accoutrements. What gives?

Oh god… I was hoping you wouldn’t revisit this. Okay. So yeah, you’re right. She’s clearly back in the business of being an ingénue – at least at the local level – and that’s obviously helped her cope immensely when it comes to overall life; however, that might not be the only reason she’s stunningly reborn. Another reason might have to do with the fact she’s also discovered she might, maybe enjoy being a black widow who enjoys snuffing out unsuspecting gentlemen with the help of belladonna in real life. Maybe. It’s possible.


9. Uh… What say?

Now, do you see why I didn’t wanna go down this road?! Fine! It’s out there! Everyone knows! My fully-bloomed ingénue’s a black widow and those accoutrements aren’t provided by the local theater production and they’re, sure as shit, not for that embarrassing buffoon, Leslie! Actually, in the play, it’s a secondhand, flannel nightgown she sports and for Leslie, it’s ratty sweats and an ‘N Sync T-shirt with a hole in the armpit! The accoutrements I chose are for a real-life, sexy, killing spree! And unlike the character from the play, my girl’s nimble enough to rendezvous with her victims in other counties, where she handily assumes identities, wears various wigs and debuts different accents! And unlike some middling, boring black widow, she doesn’t do it for the money or the insurance payouts! Nope! Simply for sport! I blame technology! The relationships are able to flourish because she builds an online rapport so robust, by the time they meet in person, these dudes are so keyed up, they’re all but putty in her masterful hands! I also blame the egos of said victims! How do they not realize online love for men like them is the devil’s snare and if some chick named Constance Marie is proposing marriage after two, mediocre, sexting sessions, rife with details of who’s tickling what on who, then there’s a good chance it’ll end in death?! And I don’t know why, but she insists on wearing me every damn time they rendezvous! How the fuck do you think I know about the Borgia yarn?! She tells them that’s how! As they lay dying, she whispers, inches from their faces, that granny would tell her she had Lucrezia’s cunning eyes and button nose! I’m tired of Lucrezia! I’m tired of button noses! I’m tired of rendezvousing! I’m tired of pallor, livor, algor and rigor! I’m tired of seeing into the souls of sweet, gullible men who think the universe has finally granted them the kindness and caress of a woman who’s only ever pole-danced across their dreams! I’m tired of dangling over these pathetic creatures, during their final breaths, as they come to realize they probably should’ve remained faithful to Ruth because all this lunatic, Constance Marie, wants is to watch them suffer and die! So there you have it! The late-’90s, early-2000s Lifetime flick, starring Bonnie Bedelia come to life and the true reason why when Tyler, Grey and Diego race from the goddam school bus to the bullshit front door and when stupid-face Leslie kicks off his stupid work boots in the fucking garage, they’re each greeted by a woman who wants nothing more than to be right there! In the moment! With! Them!





In neck on January 25, 2013 at 8:15am01


1. Like so many, this flu has a Vise-grip on my life at the moment; therefore, I’m able to get out just one question. If you could be worn by anyone, who would it be?

This man. At this moment.


In neck on August 18, 2011 at 8:15pm08

1. If given the task of styling yourself, what would be the accoutrements?

A Phillip Lim vest, a pair of Allsaints cropped leather trousers, Super ‘Ciccio’ glasses and the Christian Louboutin pump.


2. Do you have a favorite trope?

Yes and it feels very apt considering the times in which we are living. It is one of the antanaclasis variety, made famous by Mr. Benjamin Franklin, “We must hang together, or assuredly we will all hang separately.”

3. If you could appear in any film what would it be?

“Rosemary’s Baby” around the neck of Minnie Castevet, a.k.a. the enviable Ruth Gordon.

4.  What is the perfect way for one to spend an afternoon?

 Lying in the park, listening to “Ride of the Valkyries” while simultaneously watching a Monarch butterfly, destination unknown, amid flight, fighting to evade elements that include a 9-year-old hellbent on catching it, thrusting gales care of an elderly couple racing to a matinée on their Hoverounds, a Great Dane hellbent on catching it, a misdirected shuttlecock from a heated game of badminton, punches thrown by a woman who has just been told by her husband that he has impregnated her sister, fiery wafts from a barbecue grill, timed sprinklers, a man deathly allergic to bees who has encountered a bee, puddle sludge catapulted into the air by a leaping 4-year-old unaware, at this stage in life anyway, that Typhoid is an actual thing, a remote-controlled helicopter controlled by a middle-aged man who just had to get out of the house before his wife drove him to drink, a T’ai chi session, first-timer foreplay that entails two teenagers rolling down a hillside, boot camp suckers dropping like flies as they try to shakily maintain a side plank, a wedding party’s action shot, the maid of honor face planting on the way down from the wedding party’s action shot, the bride’s gesticulation fueled meltdown over the fact that her wedding has been ruined, E.M.T.’s holding a gurney, racing to the aid of the sobbing maid who is now bleeding profusely and missing both maxillary central incisors, the bride continuing to meltdown, until suddenly there it is! The Monarch’s one and, possibly, only chance out of this hell. The Monarch hovers, watching as the groom looks to his blithering, spoiled, squalling future, and then, with vigor his only friend, the groom scoops up the delirious maid of honor sans front teeth, declares his love for her all along, kisses her — wrong move! — turns and races out of the park. The Monarch turns with them and drafts close behind, successfully taking advantage of the wind created by the groom’s accelerated speed. Along the way it passes two fellow Monarchs cruising in a paceline, “Fare thee well, my friends.”  The Monarch’s struggle so epic, it deserves its own leitmotif.


5.  If you could be reimagined by another artist who would it be?

Roz Chast. And I would ask that she make me appear irritable.

6. Is there a pose an autobiographical fashion blogger should never leave home without?

Tucking the hair behind the ear while wistfully staring down at something on the sidewalk. But what is it they see? Could it be the God particle?! Maybe a finable surprise the neighbor’s Yorkie left behind. We don’t know! We will never know! Oh, the mystere!


7. If you could be worn by anyone, who would it be?

The wife of the American ambassador to Portugal while she waits on a cobblestone pathway overlooking the Tagus for her Belgian painter-cum-lover on the day she is to leave with him and start a new life in his hometown of Bruges. Upon departure, she will leave a note, opting to save the ambassador the humiliation of seeing his face when she delivers the news. The note will be written on her personal stationary, complete with a single spray of Quelques Fleurs for old time’s sake. Within one year the scent will be gone but don’t tell the ambassador’s olfactory system as he will from time to time sniff the letter, smelling the scent for years to come. After all, it was the scent he gave to her on their second date. The same date that she watched from her third-floor dorm as he performed for her “Wanna be Startin’ Somethin'” with his fellow Whiffenpoofs. “Mama se mama sa muh-muh coo sa” would never be the same. She cracks a smile, “That was a wonderful night.” She looks up from her look back to see the painter walking toward her, a solitary pink rose clenched between his teeth. Forty more paces and she must choose between a life unknown and her reality for the past thirty years. It will be so easy to change her mind, “Gunther, I’ve made a grave mistake. I cannot leave him.” Thirty more paces, “I’m ready, Gunther.  I love you.” Twenty more paces, “Gun (clears throat)  …ther — (nervous chuckle)  I was never one for that nickname. Anyway, I need more time. I was too rash, too hasty. He’ll be gutted if I leave this way.” Time is up. He is here, the painter, Gunther, standing in front of her, rose still firmly between his teeth. He smiles, holds out his hand.

8.  So, who does she end up with?

That’s not the point.

9.  What’s the point?

The point is, in all likelihood, no matter who she ends up with she won’t truly be happy. The point is, women need a combination of both painter and ambassador. Too much of one — or too little depending on how you look at it — is not enough. Everyone would like to say that the perfect man does not exist; half painter, half ambassador may as well be a cocktail of unicorns and rainbows but I find that to be a bunk theory. If you have the power to incubate them and raise them then you have the power to turn them into amazing adults who treat their partners well. It’s been done many times in fact. I’ve seen it. So, for all the ladies right now — and you know who you are —  marveling at their little bundles who have mastered the crab crawl months before the crab crawl should’ve been mastered? Stop with the overbearing coddling and the “no woman will ever treat you as well as mumsy” subliminal messaging and just make sure he doesn’t grow up to be a selfish, self-aggrandizing prick because not long ago, the very gentleman who screwed (or is currently screwing) you over mastered a crab crawl or two of his own.


In neck on January 28, 2011 at 8:15pm01

1. What is your favorite human body part?

Since I possess the ability to either enhance it or make one forget it’s even there, it would have to be the clavicle.

2. If not you then what?

A vintage Elsa Schiaparelli coat with drawing by surrealist Jean Cocteau.

3. Overrated is?

Feet firmly planted on the ground. Sometimes a little levity may be just the thing to set you free.

4. Do you have a favorite mnemonic device?

Brought to you by the ill-fated wives of Henry VIII:

“Divorced, beheaded, died; divorced, beheaded, survived.”

5. Who does it right?

As always, Grace.

6. Who does it wrong?

Old-timey toothaches.

7. Do you have a favorite tying technique?

A simple knot.

8. Is there a particular neck you would like to be simply knotted around?

The neck of the septuagenarian on the day she finally decides to hop into her ’78 Silver Shadow and head down to the marina to confront her philandering husband at the condo he shares with his psychic-yogalates instructing mistress whose claim to fame is foreseeing the work to be done on your core.

9. Is there a song that you imagine she would be playing en route?

And not only does she know every single word, but the windows are down and the song blaring.

10.  I’ve never done this, but I just have to know. What happens post-confrontation?

Well… with the fleeting solace of victory officially behind her, she will get back into the Silver Shadow. Drive back to the flats of Beverly Hills alone, in silence, windows rolled up. Enter her home. Head straight for the bar. Pour herself a glass of Scotch neat, for the first time in a very long time. Drop down onto her custom chaise with glass in hand. Rip me from her neck, destroying the simple knot and it is here and only here that she will cry, using me to collect her tears. And do you know what? I won’t mind it one bit.


In neck on September 23, 2010 at 8:15pm09

1. If you could style yourself, what would be the accoutrements?

A 3.1 Philip Lim dungaree skirt,  Givenchy over-the-knee boots, a Splendid tank and a Hermes scarf tie.

2. What is your idea of the perfect trip?

Tanzania, traveling from Dar es Salaam to Kigoma by train.

3. If not you then what?

A Sonia Rykiel for Future Collectables knitted dress.

4. Overrated is?


5. What is your favorite malapropism?

Money roots out all evil.

6. What is a dream that will, more than likely, never be realized?

An uncensored N.W.A., tribute episode of “Glee.”  N*$#@% wit attitude… and jazz hands!

7. Who would you like to be worn by?

Tina Modotti.

8. Overrated?

Male skinny jeans.  I would imagine people tend to like the element of surprise be that good or bad, big or small.

9. What is the most interesting fact you know?

The artist Chuck Close has a condition known as prosopagnosia (face blindness), which is interesting considering…