The Late-Breaking Halloween Contest

We always feel very Scrooge McDuck about Halloween. This is entirely the fault of all those investment banker girls in our old neighborhood who would use Halloween as their excuse for dressing up like bondage prostitutes and going outside. It's like, you fucking pussies, if you want to be a prostitute, just quit your fancy job at Merrill and live your dream. Argh. It's like they want to be all slutty but want more to buy lots of obviously expensive handbags. We just hate them.

So that is our bias. And yet there we were on Friday evening, having just spent a jaw-dropping $70 on dinner at a fucking Houlihan's in Penn Station, when out of nowhere, three guys dressed in brown jumpsuits ran by, but not so quickly that we couldn't make out their little Ghostbusting insignias. For they were the Ghostbusters. That was nice.

Tomorrow, we assure you, we will be dressed in the costume of early 21st century, urban-dwelling American female, which we also, coincidentally, wore today. But we announce a new contest, with a deadline of 9 a.m. November 1, and that is, whoever sends us a picture of the person in the best costume, perhaps something like the Ghostbusters, we will give you a subscription to a real fashion magazine, so different from this retarded web enterprise we have here. You may choose between Elle, Lucky, and Vogue. NB, the photo doesn't need to be of you, but we need to be able to run the picture without anyone getting annoyed at us, and celebrities don't count. We know we should have announced this, say, before the weekend's parties, but we were too busy twitching from stress to get our act together. And people take pictures without having a $15 magazine subscription dangled in front of them, so ... whatever.

Don't be a pussy. Magazine subscriptions are like a little bit of crack in the mail, sent directly to you. How lovely! Winners announced on Tuesday.

The Us Weekly Home Companion

Part 1: This has got to be the most boring Us Weekly of all time, except for the cover, which basically says that Tom Cruise brainwashed Katie Holmes into giving him her womb.

Part 2: This issue is so boring, in fact, that this week we concentrate on pressing issues like the terror of spending a six-hour flight next to a woman saying, so loudly, "That can't be a four. That can't be a four. That can't be a four. That can't be a four or a seven." For all six hours. Argh fucking grrggh sudoku.

The Platonic Ideal: Glittery Clutch, Black Tank

We are going home, and like the adopted tiger that eats the little boy because it is his nature, we will immediately revert to the local custom of dark jeans, black tank top, and glittery clutch. First of all, that metaphor seriusly got away from us, and secondly, dark jeans \ tank top is like a global cliche, not just a local one, so whatever. It is so late at night, and we are so screwed with this whole getting up before the sun rises thing.

Anyway, there is such a thing as the perfect tank top and the perfect clutch. We would like to talk about both of these things, but we hit several road blocks. The actual platonic-ideal tank top is from Velvet, but their site is so retarded that they only show like four of their tank tops. Which seems to defeat the purpose of an online store, but whatever. And the runner-up is from Abercrombie, but after their even more retarded "Baghdad Ass Up" t-shirt, we're never linking to them again. It's sort of like an unrequited thing, where we're all like, "You're an asshole!" and they're all, "Are you the girl from chemistry?"

The clutch situation is much better, and we present two choices from Lorelei NYC. Top, gold. (They don't do ... we think they're called "deep links," or something, so you have to fish around a little, but it's there.) You're like — at least, we're like — do I want to spend $184 on a clutch? And you don't, but you want the clutch, and ... did we mention how tired we are? We want the clutch. It'll go with just about everything, especially those boring black tank tops we were just talking about.


And we love, love, love this one. Emerald. Eelskin. Next week is going to be so much better here, we swear to God. Did you know Anne Rice has turned into a totally psycho born again who writes books from Jesus's perspective?

What You Get When You Type "Kate Moss" Into eBay

Well, you don't get cocaine, which is sort of what expected. You get instead clothing you can only fit into if do cocaine. Or have anorexia. We endorse neither. In fact, we were recently quizzed, in a classroom full of people oh so much younger than us, and when the teacher asked who had never done drugs, we raised our hand. We were the only one. Besides the TA. Humiliating. Always, always humiliating, but that's what you get when you go back to school when you should be popping out some babies, like apparently the whole goddamn world. All we want is a little refugee baby like Angelina Jolie, who is, in fact, older than us, possibly in 5-15 years.

This was supposed to be about Kate Moss.

1. This is a 50's VINTAGE STYLE POLKA DOT DRESS! SEEN ON KATE MOSS!. Also "SO GWEN!" Really? Actually, we quite like this dress.


2.DRESS KNITTED V TRENDY AS SEEN ON KATE MOSS. NAVY-8-12. Hmm. V trendy? Really? It looks a little handmade, actually, not in an entirely positive way. It does, however, prove the point of putting a random style icon's name into your eBay listing, as it's currently going for $80.


3. Vintage Kate Moss low cut black waistcoat 12 sold out. This would really be a lot better if the picture was a little better. Or if the waistcoat was a little better. We just can't get past the double-breastedness of waistcoats. Like this one.


4. Now these, these are actually excellent. BNWT SASS & BIDE MISFITS BLACK 28/10 SKINNY KATE MOSS. Don't you kind of feel like models who do coke to stay skinny are sort of like baseball players who take steroids? They're fucking up the playing field for all of us.


We mention this only because it is so heinous. Heinous like having sex with a crackhead heinous. What could that possibly be like, we wonder? Dirty, we bet. Not in a remotely positive way. But anyway, what the fuck is this, this BNWT UGG PINK SHEARLING MESSENGER BAG SO KATE MOSS? Holy shit, it looks like a giant pink sheep pouch, and then what, you take this outside? Shocking. Unbelievable. Bizarre. But "so Kate Moss"? The problem with talking about Kate Moss now is that it's impossible, because she's just this punchline, even though — seriously, what is it, 97% of the fashion industry does coke? And embraces hypocrisy? But she, even on her worst, got-screwed-by-a-crackhead-all-night, did-coke-all-day, days, is a style icon, and would never, ever touch this bag.

Paris Hilton might, however.

The Us Weekly Home Companion

Part 1: This is undoubtedly the most rigorously boring Us Weekly of all time. It's like they saw the Cruise-offspring exclusive in People and sent the writers right back to their dungeons. Auto-pilot, here.

Part 2: However, you wouldn't want to miss the three images of Britney Spears wearing the same wide-strap $12.99 white bra under spaghetti-strap tank tops, or Sienna Miller's post-break-up bob.

The Most Special Style Lab Of All Time

A question from a very excellent member of our BS community:

Dear Bunnyshop--

I am writing to ask you what you think of this look.

I am not talking about the Mexican wrestler's mask, because I know that looks awesome.

I am instead talking about the puffy vest under the suit jacket look.

I first started wearing this in Colorado, where you need a puffy vest with everything.

Now that I am traveling the other 50 United States besides Colorado in support of my book, I am wearing it all the time.

Now, I will be candid: I get some looks. I get some comments like: "what are you doing? why are you wearing that?"

(A: It provides comfort, warmth, protection, and pockets. Also: it looks deranged, yet strangely snappy. Which is the kind of look I'm going for.)

Then they sort of look at me. It is hard to tell if it is the "it's-so-crazy-it-just-might-work" look, or if it's the "that looks stupid" look.

Here is a link to other examples of the outfit, without the mask.

Knowing that I will not change my behavior no matter what you say, would you still feel inclined to lend your estimable insight.

I thank you.

Jh

--

We will only say here that we find the Mexican wrestling mask deeply disturbing, but we quite enjoy the puffer vest \ suit jacket combo. Okay, maybe not with the suit. The problem with vests, puffer or otherwise, is that we buy them, and then we never wear them, because only, say, eight minutes out of every calendar year offer vest-wearing weather. The addition of the suit may or may not solve this problem.

And now, fair readers, if you have ever believed anything we have ever said, you will certainly buy this, and then possibly this.

We open the floor to debate.

Style Lab: The Argyle Vest

We will just reprint this note in its entirety:

"What do you think of this vest \ button-down combo? I am sort of into it, but I am sort of not, because it makes me think of my lesbian gym teacher from middle school. Normally I would say 'not that there's anything wrong with that,' but in this case there is, because she was a really terrible dresser."

We will only add that the sweater is Alice + Olivia — we can't find the original, but here's the long sleeve version, in some sort of Neapolitan extravaganza. And that we have to go thumbs-down here. It's just a little too golf-y.

Now: Please send your most pressing style dilemmas to us, and we will have our public debate them!

The Three Best Things We Have Ever Seen

1. The Jarhead trailer where Jake Gyllenhaal is all psycho buff and then, even better, Jamie Foxx says "Hoo-ah," all weird and psychotically, and then, even so much better, there's that crazy editing to "Jesus Walks." It riles us up so much, we don't know. It kind of makes us want to fight, which can't be the point. It's not even that we can't wait for the movie. We would just like to sit in a dark room and watch that trailer over and over again; that would be fine.

2. Zoom Shop. What? How can it be, that you can buy Philosophy in a vending machine? 24-hour access to Philosophy? This is better than the Internet. We would like one of these everywhere we go, please.

3. If by "best" we mean "worst": Wolf Blitzer on CNN asking Jerry Falwell if — post-hurricane, -tsunami, -earthquake, etc. — "these are the End Times." Fuck you, Wolf Blitzer, and fuck you, CNN. It's over between us, and we're never coming back.

How Not To Enjoy Philosophy's Red Delicious Apple Bath and Shower Gel

1. Admire new, apple-y scent of Philosophy Red Delicious Apple Bath and Shower Gel. Think to self, "Hell, no, $20 isn't too much for a shower gel; I have the next 50 years of my life to pay off those student loans. Whee!!!"
2. Cry with shame of $20 Philosophy Red Delicious Apple Bath and Shower Gel purchase on bus home, standing next to drunk man who keeps touching your arm with his beer can.
3. Once home, open cap, breathe deeply, and realize really do love $20 Philosophy Red Delicious Apple Bath and Shower Gel.
4. Continue breathing deeply from bottle while getting in shower. Apply gel to shower-scrubby thing.
5. Apply gel to self. Remove cap. Breathe deeply from bottle. Wonder if there is some weird apple-chemical cancer-causing scent at play.
6. Apply gel.
7. Look at shower-scrubby thing, which is covered in blood-red suds.
8. Think, seriously, think to self: "Where am I bleeding from?"
9. Examine body for wounds.
10. Wonder if have been victim of shiv-ving by drunk man on bus.
11. Realize Philosophy Red Delicious Apple Bath and Shower Gel is, as the name suggests, actually red.
12. Rue $20 Philosophy Red Delicious Apple Bath and Shower Gel purchase. Breathe. Sigh. Rue. Breathe. Sigh. Breathe. Rue. Breathe. Swoon.

To The Nice People Who Asked How Our Apartment Siege Ended

OK, not exactly a siege. But last week we were in the unlikely position of being locked in our apartment thanks to a malfunctioning lock, which we are pretty sure is some sort of fire hazard. So we called the apartment manager. Three times. Then he called us back. We called him back, and he was all, "I have to ask someone what to do." And we were like, "Well, we're fucking locked in here, so we'll probably be here when you get back, unless there is some sort of life-taking inferno we need to deal with." So we waited, and an hour later, as we are wondering how old cheese can be before it becomes cheese you should not actually eat even in cases of encroaching starvation, he called, and left a message, because we were also busy trying to jerk the door open with a damp towel. And on that voicemail, he advised us to fax a service request to his office. Because we have a fax in our apartment. Next to our jacuzzi, which we feel is an aptly ’80s, extraneous object appropriate for designation as a metaphor for a fax machine. We called him back and left one of those you-are-a-fucking-moron voicemails that ends with "Thank you so much for calling" and "I appreciate your return call at your earliest convenience."

Shortly after that, a representative of our building who was not a moron heard us trying to yank the door open and managed to body-slam it, releasing us from our prison. He called maintenance. We love him, in some sort of Stockholm Syndrome way.

Our favorite part of this story is how three hours later, as we were enjoying our sunny freedom, the moron called us back to remind us that he wouldn't "be able to send anyone over about the door open until [he got] the faxed service request."

We hope we do not sound crazy and bitter in this little update, because we generally estimate ourselves to be un-troublemaking. But: trapped resident. Fax machine. Please.

Shopping Alert: The Mulberry Rockley

Someone at Neiman Marcus has made a terrible, yet wonderful, and possibly career-ending mistake, and that is his inability to correctly price the Mulberry Rockley bag, long a favorite of this site despite the fact that it is totally a boy-y bag. (Perhaps this is suggested by the fact that a boy is holding it in the picture above. But it's in Neiman's women's handbags department.) Okay, to be fair, we only know how much the Rockley costs in Britain, and that is £495, which equals, oh, we have no idea, maybe something like $850? And yet they are being sold at Neiman Marcus for $565. Which is something like $565, or about $300 less than they'd cost in the UK, which is way more than that everything-is-so-freaking-expensive-in-London-I-seriously-can't-afford-McDonald's-here problem. In fact, a Neiman's sales woman said: "I think they made a mistake." We love, absolutely adore mistakes like these. We will say this: The only thing we enjoyed about The Ring was Naomi Watts' leather work bag, and this is the closest we have come to it in however long it's been since The Ring came out, and if we can figure out a way to eat nothing but toast for a month, and still afford cable TV and some Tamiflu, we will totally buy it. Because it is beautiful.

If you are with us on this, don't bother looking online, because it's not there. We were informed that there were "one on the West Coast, and two in Chicago, and a few more in New York." Just writing that makes us a little panicky.

Designer of the Week: Paul & Joe

Everything Paul & Joe make is so beautiful. It's like the exact opposite of the horrible shithole where we live. Today, true story, we were on a bus, and a deranged man, with his pants falling down to his ankles, pushed our head into a window as he made his way off the bus. That's not the bad part. He got off the bus, his pants fell all the way down, he tripped and hit his head on a bench, and then the assholes on the bus laughed. Ugh. And we're sluts for cities: We love all of them, Philadelphia, London, Memphis, Austin, Toronto, Vineland, Cheltenham, and above all, brilliant in the night sky, Brooklyn. If a train stops there, we like it. Anyway, tss, we seriously digress. Paul & Joe. So freaking beautiful. So beautiful it makes us feel like we are in Paris, and not in this fucking, fucking cesspool.

Quick fact: Paul & Joe are the names of the designer's kids. The designer is French, and we love her. Like this "A Flea Market In Paris Collection - Face Color Powder." Seriously, we don't even know what "Face Color Powder" is. Sephora advises "wash[ing it] over eyes for a subtle shimmer or layer[ing] to intensify the depth of the color." Just call it eye shadow. Jesus. But despite the marketing ridiculousness, we'd buy it just for those lovely little compacts. $18


The confusing thing is that even though their make-up is so perfect, they also make clothing. Usually it's so barfy when fashion houses roll out the inevitable fragrance, and you get that lame "I only have $50 but I'm a total wannabe so I'll take Marc Jacobs in fragrance form" response. Or, like, the Sisley cosmetics collection, which seems so totally half-assed. But both their cosmetics and their clothing is totally microcosmically beautiful. This red dress is that just-right thing where it's totally basic and one color, but those gathers are gorgeously done and that deep double-v-neck is sweet, in the Napoleon Dynamite sense. We sort of wish it weren't red — red is just so "Look at me, I'm so brave, I'll wear a bright red dress" — but if we must, we must. $383


And okay, $750 is a lot of money, but maybe not when you spend it on a "signature coat." We have found, with few exceptions, that when we make a sizable purchase, we end up spending the last few days before we get paid looking to pick quarters off the floor so we can buy a piece of pizza. When we do not make a sizable purchase, we inevitably use that money to buy Tostito's tortilla chips and that sort of semi-liquid chemical cheese sauce that comes in the glass jars. The former practice just must be the better one, no? So: signature coat it is. Blue wool blend with brown buttons.


And we can't explain it; we still totally love cowboy shirts, especially those made by French designers, with narrow-fit French styling. It's like Au Bon Pain, but for clothes, and really good: cross-pollination. We're totally pro. And it looks just like a not-quite-as-good Blumarine cowboy shirt we've seen elsewhere, and will not link to here as a matter of principle. $191

The Us Weekly Home Companion

Part 1: The cover line of this issue actually reads "Fucking Liars" rather than "What Now?" if you look very, very closely.

Part 2: Well, because we're fucking idiots, we left this post up all day yesterday, just hanging out like some rich suburban Juicy Couture mom showing off cleavage at a Green Day concert: in other words, conspicuously. But now it is in its proper place.

Public Service Announcement

Are you in L.A.? We're not. We know this because we don't have a rash. The last time we were in L.A., a truck in front of us freaked out, come at us backwards going 90 m.p.h, and then flipped off the embankment and rolled three times. Our final thought: "Thank God we got that goddamn $9.99 collision damage waiver." Glorious! Exactly what we'd always expected, last-thought-wise.

Er, this isn't about that. If we were in L.A. for any reason, it'd be right now, for L.A's fashion week, and we've been asked to suggest checking out this guide for the festivities. They were nice to link to us in the past, so voila: guide.

Velvet, But Not Blazers

Velvet blazers. We are so sick of them. We know: velvet. Blazers. Fine. But typically, when we see them on people, we think, why are you wearing a smoking jacket, like Mr. Burns, in domestic scenes, from The Simpsons? Tss. But more than the smoking jacket thing, it's all those fashion "articles" we read, about, like, five must-buys for fall, and velvet blazers were tops every time. Velvet blazers are that girl in our high school who managed her extreme popularity through a micro-managed niceness assault on everyone in our class. She was the ultimate vote-getter, and yet, she was so bland, that if you took two seconds to think about it, we're all, "Why in the world would I want to be friends with Maggie Dunmeyer? She sucks." That, in a nutshell, is precisely how we feel about velvet blazers.

But we like velvet: warm! Soft! In fact, velvety! These are our favorite things — indeed, five must-buys for fall! — involving velvet, but not in a blazer-y way.

Velvet pants are so L Word \ Shane. We should send a photo to Sally Hershberger and ask her if she likes these Seven For All Mankind "Mia Velvet Pant Stretch, Black"s. We'd like them even better with the loud denim detailing (that silver hardware is a little bright), but they'll do fine, and although we know we are about five years too late on this, we are total converts to the Seven fit. $176


Martine Sitbon's bags are so excellent. Usually we think of the more structured, leather-ish, utility \ city bags, but this is a totally random, slouchy, velvet bag with a heart. It loves you! Oh, that is so sad, that accessories could take the place of people, because you know it's totally happening. In fact, we saw it happen several times at Neiman Marcus last weekend, with like a half dozen wives, husbands they do not like, and their new Louis Vuitton bags. Anyway, Martine Sitbon: $450, from aloharag.com. We've never seen this site before, or been to the store, but we feel like real losers admitting that, because they have an excellent collection of unbelievably hard-to-find people (online, at least) like Junya Watanabe, Balenciaga, Bernard Willhelm, Martin Margiela....


This is velvet, and it is a jacket, but it is not a blazer, and that's all we care about. Vanessa Bruno velvet jacket, $347. We would totally buy this if we lived in a rich suburb, and all the mean moms had velvet blazers from Nordstroms. That color, if it's impossible to tell, is apparently a "darkest green."


And also Vanessa Bruno, we would like to do a second mention of her excellent, so excellent, fall bags. $238


If you go to Anthropologie.com and do a search for "velvet," you'll get 299 results. Yeah, okay, we get it. This Pickford Silk Cami is so Marc Jacobs without being too derivative or obvious, and all that detailing is pretty nice for $88.


And further proof we should named this post "Velvet, But Not Blazers, And Only By Vanessa Bruno," this excellent asymmetrical velvet dress. Usually we are too skeeved out to do a full-body velvet presentation — it's like wrapping yourself in banana leaves and then going outside, or something, just a little too much texture — but luckily, there's not that much material actually being used here, due to the sleeveless-ness and the top-of-the-knee length.


Our knee-jerk impulse is always to point to the Marc Jacobs velvet ballet flats, but honestly, the colors are a little annoying, and they're a little Kool Aid, no? So instead, these black velvet ballet flats from bebe. Very nice, very basic, totally reliable and great in most occasions, casual to formal — which is, these days, our taste, we realize, in shoes as well as men. $87.99

For Some Reason Most of the Pictures Here Are Really Horrid: Striped Sweater-Hoodies

Here are our three least favorite words in the English language: hump, bump, and lump. Headlines like "First Bump Photo" (see: cover, Us Weekly, re: Katie Cruise) make us want to disavow our society and join one of those cults where you all hop on a passing comet or something, like on CSI. And that Black Eyed Peas song: OK, it sounds all nice and fine, and then you get to the part about the "lovely lady lumps," and it's like, what? Tumors? What? Can't we just go back to reclaiming "tits" or something? "Ass"? Anyone? However, we are simultaneously impressed with their ability to incorporate True Religion into a song.

Anyway, this posting, as you could not possibly have guessed from the paragraph above, is about striped sweaters. See, that Ella Moss sweater at top is like designed for a ... bump! Right! Yay! Babies!!! We are going to try not to hold that against the sweater.

Anyway: Stripes. Sweaters. Nothing could be easier. Like peanut butter and jelly — which, come to think of it, we feel is fairly disgusting, but you know what we mean. As above, Ella Moss. See? It ties right over the baby. Babies!!! Yay! $165


Okay, this picture is not so hot: Whoa! Is it cold in here? Perhaps I'll raise my hoodie, and arrange it beside my face-framing layers. But don't hold it against the Lily McNeal sweater. The sad truth is that we expect the actual hood part of a hoodie to remain like a vestigial tail, or something: Sure, it's there, but it's not there to actually be used. $116. It's cotton, but nice cotton.


And truly, we know we are probably in the minority on this, but we love the new Fair Isle-y sweaters from Vince. They're so one step away from being reindeer sweaters — actually, one of them may, in fact, have a reindeer — but they're Vince, and Madonna wears Vince, so they must be cool, right? Totally! Yay, Madonna! Babies!! Yay! We'd buy this, wear it once, be horrified throughout, and then sell it at a garage sale. Everything about it is ridiculous: the color, the fur collar, the pattern. But we are strangely drawn to it, like buzzards. Er, that analogy kind of got away from us. $345


And as a Fair Isle sidebar, here's this Alexander McQueen wool sweater. It makes us want to move to Scotland and knit.


And this is from Mayle, though we can't remember how much it costs, which is the kind of cracker-jack reporting we hope you've come to expect. Tss, so annoying. But it's all furry and stripe-y and nice — not a hoodie, but it does have a high and substantial neck, and we need to take a long and substantial nap. We saw this at Metier in San Francisco, but we imagine you could also find it at the Mayle store in NYC, 242 Elizabeth Street. Satine also has quite a bit of her stuff. Isn't it weird that Jane Mayle is sort of a travel-writing, American Stella McCartney, her dad being the guy who wrote all the A Year in Provence books?

Keeping Ourselves Warm And Comfortable As We Await The Flames

Last night we had the pleasure of coming as close to a fiery highway death as we have ever come, at least as far as we know. Tonight, we arrived home to an apartment with a malfunctioning door. We pushed through it by rushing it, linebacker-style. We discovered that "linebacker-style," unfortunately, was not an option when it came to opening the door from the other side—in other words, reentering the bright, sunny world of the living—because from the inside, you need to pull, rather the push, the door. Pulling the door open required 80 minutes, a rubber potholder, a pair of shoelaces, and so many curses, we couldn't even count them all. So then, after we'd returned with our disgusting, stress-induced cheeseburger fix, we asked ourselves: Would we rather leave our door ajar all night, until the locksmith comes in the morning, and risk variously disturbed ex-hippie serial killer intruders? Or would we rather close the door, risking the chance that if we needed to leave quickly, it would likely again require 80 minutes, a rubber potholder, and a pair of shoelaces? We chose the latter. We are awaiting our fiery apartment death.

In the meantime, we are focusing not on striped sweaters, as we had planned to, but a few warm and fuzzy things, because perhaps if we focus on them, we will not want to rip out our landlord's heart and eat it.

Above, the Vince cashmere hoodie sweater. We know, we know; it's not even trying. But how hard to you need to try when awaiting apartment inferno // home invasion? Seriously, we're chilling. So to speak. $245


Cashmere blanket. Brora. 140 cm X 190 cm. No idea how big that is, but we bet it's nice and warm. By the way, Without a Trace producers, we love the fact that the new female "special agent" just happens to be hot, and in her first episode, she and Sam just happen to go "undercover" as prostitutes offering themselves as a package deal. Honestly, it is so awesome being a woman. As long as you're hot and don't mind acting like a prostitute. Fucking subtle, guys. Anyway, blanket, $575


Cacharel mittens. Perhaps these could cushion our blow if we jump from our window, hands first, in effort to escape flames. $165

The Us Weekly Home Companion

Part 1: Possibly the best Us Weekly of all time. Can you imagine the orgasmic joy shared by editors as they finally, finally got their truest wish, the nail in the coffin of the Jessica Simpson-Nick Lachey marketing drive\\ marriage?

And part 2, featuring the very best thing we have ever, ever seen in an Us Weekly magazine. We do not exaggerate. For home reference, you'll find it on page 76.

Style Lab: The Ridiculously Fluffy Coat

Style Lab, formerly known as "Do I Look Fat in [X]?" future-ly known as the place where you can have your style questions debated by the Bunnyshop style community. For instance, rather than the fat-issue, which we now recognize to be as dated and painful as Nicole Ritchie will be in about twenty-five minutes, this week we ask: "Is this ultra-puffy white fluffy J Lo-style coat good or evil?" Butter or margarine? Paris, France, or Paris, Hilton?

Er, you get the idea. Personally, we think it's excellent, without reservations — a little chunky in the shoulders, but that's just the price of doing business in Kazahkstan, as they say. And note the ultra-mini black "privacy" box, to better show off the very good haircut, as well.

As always, constructive criticism is adored; random bitchiness will be destroyed, cast out, made into lye, etc. etc.

An Announcement

Dear Bunnyshoppers,
This isn't exactly like buying a Theory sweater (which we totally recommend, btw), but a Friend of Bunnyshop we know is selling her DNA on eBay. Why, we can't say. But wouldn't it be nice to own someone's DNA? Personally, we'd keep it with us at all times, and if need be, leave it at crime scenes. Maybe we could grow something in a mason jar. You would literally own that person, or at least her replicant. Anyway, if you would like to help out this member of our Bunnyshop community, please check it out.

Look of the Day: A. F. Vandevorst

It's autumn, not spring, and we can barely wrap our heads around a new season of House, nevermind clothes we won't be unable to afford for six more months. Er, in the sense that we'll never be able to afford them, and that we'll be confronted with this fact in six months. This whole posting was supposed to be about the gay fantasia that mysteriously appeared at a suburban Lord & Taylor's this weekend, but stupid shit Picture Mail from Sprint has decided to stop working. Ergo, our review of the fall collections. Our argument: It's fall. Okay, maybe we'd take a look at resort or something (for when we go to the resort of Grand Army Plaza, say, or the F train, which was pretty spectacular during that monsoon on Saturday night), but we're not thinking about spring until someone calls to tell us that the crocus are blooming. Did we mention that today's coverage was supposed to be a gay fantasia?

We're beginning at the beginning (thanks to style.com) with A.F. Vandevorst, the Belgian husband-and-wife team. Belgian, in this sentence, is defined as "enamoured of sticking Mickey Mouse ears on their models' heads, because they are so freaking edgy." (Did we mention the runway here was on an ice rink?)

This was, unbelievably, our favorite look. Cable knit sweater; cable knit sweater coat; bizarre, dangling-hem skirt; and polar bear boots. Ooh, plus the furry ears. What do we take from this? Seriously, this is how we spot actresses at Sundance, in their furry boots and mini-skirts and sweaters, always running around looking for coats. (Favorite Sundance interview ever, with 7-11 employee: "All these fucking bitches from L.A. show up in tank tops, and then they realize that 'ski resort' means it might fucking snow.'")


Now okay, we're not doing the double-sweater thing, and the furry boots and mini thing ... no. Just no. But we're totally into a cable-knit sweater coat, and this one from Theory is so sweet — brown, cashmere, and extremely expensive at $380. You know how to get over that? Buy it, then tell yourself you're going to put a dollar in a jar each time you wear it, in the "Theory Sweater Fund." (It is crucial to buy the sweater before instituting the jar thing.) Then, as the pain of spending $380 on a sweater lessens, take the money in the jar and spend it on take-out. When calling credit card company: Hold earpiece away from actual ear when full balance is announced on phone, while calling to get minimum amount due. Enjoy beautiful sweater. Success!

Yellow Vests

We've always been of two minds about vests: warm, yes, but not warm enough to avoid jackets. There seem to be like five days a year when the weather is vest-appropriate. But we still buy them. It's masochism at the cash register. And now that there are all these cute yellow ones ... it almost makes us angry to see ones we like, because we know we're going to buy them, and then it'll either be too cold or to hot to wear them, and we're going to be all pissed off. .

Anyhoo, the Diesel Ivrev jacket. Now, we've seen some absolutely nauseating Diesel ads lately, like the one with the man with his back to us, and his face wedged between a women's thighs. Keep it on Skinemax, people. But we still like this vest, which makes it an even more self-loathing purchase than normal. The white "contrast banding" is just a little bit of retro excellence without getting all annoying about it. $110


And okay, this True Religion is a little overembellished, but it's still quite good. $187


And finally, this option from Vince. Yellow's sort of an accent color here, but it's nice and warm and Vince-y (exceptionally expensive).

Belts: Good

We've come around on belts: We used to think they were like those ridiculous "warranty" things at Radio Shack, where someone recently offered us a $15 "protection plan" on a $25 pair of headphones. "But who protects us," we said, "from your bullshit protection plan?" But belts, we've learned, have a purpose beyond holding up pants (like stupid Lee Jeans, which has the most bizarrely sized, narrow-thigh, gigantic-waist fit in every pair they sell). Belts provide a considerably larger degree of polish than we had ever considered possible. We found ourselves standing next to this women at a store last weekend, and we enjoyed hearing all about how her boyfriend was taking her "to Baja" while she ignored a cashier to focus on her cell phone call. But she was wearing a belt, and we were not, and we were still jealous of her, despite her obvious hideousness (psychological, clearly and sadly, not physically). Did we mention how much we are enjoying our exile in a certain city in California?

Anyway: belts. Good! We are going to ignore, for the moment, our past favorites: Hollywood Trading Company (despite the Jessica Simpson fandom) and the deliriously beautiful Presh.

Above, Beals Cowboy Buckles. Totally cowboy. Maybe even a little too cowboy, like a little too ready for Halloween. Like, it would be very weird to pair it with cowboy boots, or a cowboy-detailed shirt — sort of like the female equivalent of Jon Voight in Midnight Cowboy. (But if you're the kind of girl who's throwing on a cowboy hat to go out night ... we say go for it, because you probably already look like an idiot.) They're pretty bad-ass, though. If this one wasn't $550, we might get it.


As it stands, in a world where we just saw a tank of gasoline for $3.85 a gallon, we're going to have to sell our clothes just to pay the Con Ed bill. We'd be more likely to get this Big Texas Star Buckle, which is a comparatively minimal $75.


The Kama Sutra freaks us out, and we don't want it on our buckles.


But the rest of this designer's belts are cool, like this bee belt, $80


CYDWOQ belts are beautiful. They remind of so much of belts made by that asshole-ish company we will not promote here, due to their tendency for making asshole t-shirts to be worn exclusively by assholes. We totally know we were talking about belts here. This one is $99

Outfit of the Week: As Close as We Can Get to Gauchos

We tried so, so hard to get behind the gauchos thing. But seriously: When models look fat, we must say no. And we have never seen a pair of gauchos that weren't swimming around the wearer like a five-year-old clinging to his babysitter in the pool. Peeing. We add the peeing part because the gauchos \\ child are embarrassing the wearer \\ babysitter. So: gauchos. Just can't do it.

But we don't want to be all miserly and cranky about it, so we offer instead this Tom K Nguyen cropped corduroys, which, we feel reasonably sure, are much, much better than gauchos or their nasty, vengeful half-brother, the capri.


Look closely and you'll see the Nordstrom's stylist paired them with flesh-toned patterned tights, which we can't support. An FOB suggested pairing them with these blue Emilio Cavallini footless leggings ($17.99) and flats. Not entirely sure if they take orders from non-tranvestite non-strippers, but perhaps.


We feel those leggings are a little too off-night Gwen Stefani, but fair enough. For girls who are not six feet tall (nor transvestite strippers), we suggest these ... gorgeous, gorgeous gorgeous Balenciaga d'Orsay pumps (but we'd wear them in brown) or these baby-blue wedges. Ah, Balenciaga.


But, ah, one pair of gauchos. These are quite excellent, though we really can't support the cowboy-boot pairing. In fact, this is actually one of the less egregious pairings we've seen: Why, oh, why, would someone pair gauchos with giant, swimmy boots? But with a pair of heels, we'd actually quite like these Minnie Wilde gauchos ($110), especially in the black corduroy — they're cut fairly narrow, and never get too crazy through the hip, which is really all we can ask of them.

The Return of Brown Corduroy

There was a girl in our college department who wore brown corduroy pants and a dirty t-shirt practically every day for four years. She was gross and a half, and put us off brown corduroy the same way puking them into a toilet when we were four years old put us off Krumpets for 15 years. But brown is just so lovely and neutral and fall-appropriate, and corduroy is ... well, it's fine, and as we recently saw, everywhere.

Like these True Religion. There is such an element of swallowing the Kool-Aid with True Religion. It's just mass hypnosis, no? Sorry, but that white thread detailing is bad. Bad. Bad. The Joey Corduroys, $240


These are better. AG cords, $139. The True Religions are Paris Hilton, and the AG cords are ... someone who can keep her pants on in public. They're just not as desperate or pathetic. They have a modicum of self respect. When will someone explain to us why Paris HIlton was on the cover of Vanity Fair? Argh. AG cords from South Moon Under, $139


That model just looks exactly like Michelle Branch to us. Minus the baby attached to the boob. Since we're just totally overwhelmed by the whole velvet jacket thing — it's like someone's been screaming "Velvet jacket!" into our ear, as we try to sleep, for the past two months — corduroy could totally be the ticket. And this Wrangler jacket looks nicely fitted, even if the back vent is a little too tweedy (in philosophy, if not material) for our taste.


This one from Twill Twenty Two loses the academic bent, which is nice. Quite fitted, there. The annoyingly non-functional pockets are balanced out by the functionally high top-button. $198


And here, a little journal for our little college friend. A brown journal to go with her brown pants, which she never washed, for recording all her little thoughts about why she hated people who watch TV. Derr. Less annoying people could use this as well, though we'd give anything for it to lose that button. Brown Journal from Etsy, $15

The Us Weekly Home Companion

Part 1: Wherein we celebrate the nuptials of Ashton and Demi:

Part 2: Wherein Hulk Hogan is deemed the ultimate judge:

Investments, But Not In Things Like Real Estate

We've been thinking, lately, about the tremendous distance between "investment" and "investment piece." Investments means stocks and bonds. Investment pieces mean we have almost convinced ourselves that it would be worth dodging our landlord to spend our rent on a handbag. And when the enormity of that begins to sink in, we always think of that Sex and the City where Carrie realizes that she's spent the down payment on her apartment on shoes instead. This should make us think: Wow, if she hadn't bought all those shoes, she could buy a home. Instead, we think: Right on! And we hate that fucking show, so you can just imagine the conflict here.

Once we agree to the purchase of the investment piece, the question becomes: classic? Or no? Because half your heart is saying, "It's possible that I will not be spending my rent money on a handbag until I have paid off all my credit card bills, which could be years and years" — in other words, get a classic, because this moment of lunacy may not return for a while. On the other hand, there's the idea that a classic is looks cheap, even if it cost $1100. Like, the bag you bought because it will go with everything (and because you were being a tiny bit economically-minded here) looks like it was bought for that. Whimsy is the province of the affluent, and there's no doubt that part of the appeal of an i-piece (good God, we can't believe we just wrote that) is that it looks a little rich. We are so treading perilously close to sounding like someone we hate.

But the question remains: Within the subgenre of investment pieces, do you go classic or whimsy? Do you want a bag that goes with everything? Or makes you look like someone who can afford to make mistakes?


From Mulberry, we have the Darwin (at very top, around $550) versus the Phoebe (a big bigger, and around $700). Something about the Darwin just looks a little carnival to us. But actually, our top choice is a sort of happy medium: the Phoebe in apple green, which has got to be the newest new neutral (around $800). Winner: the happy medium



We still totally like Marc Jacobs' clothes, we are sure he will be thrilled to know. But are his bags — the Marc Jacobs-y bags bags, wiht the heavy hardware and recognizable-from-200-yards problem — maybe now just a little embarrassing? Maybe we could just have a canvas tote bag with satin lining and write "Desperate to fit in" in Sharpie across it. The classic Marc Jacobs — the black calfskin tote — is so tired it should be sent out to a farm and turned into gelatin. And yet his whimsical options are so hideous ... they ... just ... defy conversation: the zebra-stripe Venetia, or the mink shoulder bag, which is essentially the same thing as scribbing "I pissed away $2,900 on this ugly thing" on that canvas tote. The only way to go here is with a happy medium, like the Daria ($850), which only suffers from that obnoxiously loud hardware on the front pocket. Winner: the happy medium. Er, bit of a pattern happening here.



White bags are the ultimate whimsy: It's like burning 1100 one dollar bills, because that bag is going to look amazing for a week and like total crap any longer than that. We will never be that rich. And so, accordingly, we could never select the ultimate-whimsy ($950), because we would be the ultimate bankrupt forever and ever. But the classic Luella ($1095) is ... actually, we have no complaints about it. And that chocolate is so nice. But actually, this last one, the $1195 "Pink Rose Baby Gisele Bag," is sort of even nicer. The problem is that after this embellishment thing is over, it's going to end up at a stoop sale. So it has to be winner: classic.


The Kooba Sienna: blerg. The slightly more whimsical Kooba Sienna in brown suede: quite nice. Winner: Whimsical


And finally, Burberry. Seriously. The problem with Burberry is that it's been totally co-opted by crap. It's so impossible to deal with the Burberry classic plaids, that we can't even post one; it's too ridiculous. But this $475 gold clutch ... it's a little much. But it's as close to Burberry as we're getting.

Now we have to go wash our hands of all this ’80s-ish consumption. The ’80s, you know, not the decade we would have preferred to repeat.