Taylor Momsen performs with The Pretty Reckless in Barcelona, Spain, on July 6.
Photo: Getty Images
Good Lord. All right, *girds loins* I realize that The Pretty Reckless and Taylor Momsen have some seriously devoted fans for a variety of perfectly valid reasons, but I can't help but be concerned about the increasingly debauched images that surface after one of her shows. I mean, we've joked ad infinitum that "No Pants Momsen" is wearing sheer leggings or very short shorts or some sort of smock that falls just shy of being a legitimate dress, and that she is therefore, "not wearing pants," but here she is wearing a T-shirt, boots and underwear.
And this isn't even the half of it. Well, it's exactly half of it because, WHY AREN'T HER FANS WEARING SHIRTS???
Ashley and Mary-Kate Olsen for StyleMint.
All Photos Courtesy of StyleMint
Full disclosure: I am deeply suspicious of T-shirt "lines" as a whole and was preemptively annoyed at the prospect of the Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen's continued domination of the fashion world byway of something as predictable as an overrated tee collection for their new site, StyleMint. That their hair looks SO particularly shiny and pretty in the campaign photos was also found to be quite irksome.
Turns out, I am a presumptuous hater of clownish proportions.
Hailee Steinfeld for Miu Miu.
All Photos Courtesy of Miu Miu/Bruce Weber
As we've previously discussed, 14-year-old actress Hailee Steinfeld, is the new face of Miu Miu. The Bruce Weber-shot campaign images have been trickling in all week, and what strikes us is how forlorn she looks throughout. There's something so demure and '40s about the silhouettes, the sparse landscapes, and Lolita-esque hair that makes the whole think appear so crestfallen or lost child bride/stranded war bride in a matter that is genuinely confusing. Like, where the hell is she? And more important, why so sad Hailee? You're wearing such beyooootimous clothes.
Wherever you go, it sees you. Desigual X Cirque Du Soleil tee and a Cirque Du Soleil performer.
Photo: Desigual X Cirque Du Soleil/Getty Images
There are several things that are culturally specific and downright weird about working in Times Square. For example, today we learned that there are two Sephoras about a block and a half apart. We've also walked past the aggressively air-conditioned, unnervingly dark Desigual store and wondered WTF is a Desigual and why is it adored by droves of youngish Europeans? Is it the same thing like how shorts-wearing, loud-talking Americans are constantly being clowned for going to McDonald's in far-off lands? Which then reminds us that there are MULTIPLE MONSTER Desigual ads in the arrivals area of JFK International airport as if to remind visitors the moment they alight long flights that New York features many, many spectacles and historic gems and museums and the opera and scads of brave, brilliant citizens but to NEVER FORGET... that there's a Desigual flagship here. SO WEIRD.
Which brings us (excruciatingly slowly) to the recent news that the Spanish sportswear line (BREAKING: apparently Desigual is a Spanish sportswear line) founded in 1984 by Thomas Meyer is doing a collabo with Cirque Du Soleil, thereby unifying two things that I am 100 percent meh on.
Azzedine Alaïa at the Christian Dior show during Paris Fashion Week in Paris on Jan. 24.
I can't even deal with how awesome Azzedine Alaïa is. Just as I cannot believe I don't own his massive, gorgeous Assouline coffee-table book because it will obvi make my brain bleed with its unbridled genius. I am, as the kids say, SLEEPING. Anyways, Alaïa's been everywhere since he let slip this week that he'd been approached to helm Dior upon the fateful mustachioed meltdown of the anti-Semitic swashbuckler John Galliano (a fishtail-braided, boneheaded move that got dude nixed from the haus of CD). Alaïa refused and then proceeded to give a gloriously linktastic interview with Virgine Magazine, talking mas mess about Anna Wintour (he is not a fan) and branding the sunglassticled plasticine-faced Karl Lagerfeld a caricature and sellout.
Joe Jonas in the June 2011 issue of 'Paper' magazine.
Photo: Courtesy of 'Paper' magazine/Jacqueline Di Milia
Not to be all, despicably #humblebrag about it, but I once met Joe Jonas in person. I shook his hand and kept it moving because it was exactly 10 past 1 million o'clock and there was a heaving buffet table of goodness behind him and I am a greedy food monster who cannot prioritize correctly. FML. Anyway, what has two thumbs and is SMACKING HER HEAD IN FRUSTRATION RIGHT NOW?* Look at these photographs. I don't know what the hell is wrong with me, but I'd previously dismissed Joe Jonas because I'd believed him to be a wonderful performer and cute but basically a zygote with a little raisin scab where his navel would grow in to be because he is a baby to my eleventy-thousand-year old osteoporosis-riddled husk of a body and I thought it was gross and inappropriate. It is officially no longer gross and inappropriate. Wow, could he get it.
Tobey Maguire in the Fall/Winter 2011 campaign for Prada menswear.
Photo: Courtesy of Prada/David Sims
In a move that is perhaps as enigmatic as Michael Pitt for David Yurman, Tobey Maguire has been pegged as the new face of Prada. While we haven't seen the actor in a conspicuous role since Spider-Man (oooooh except that one about post-traumatic stress disorder where some casting genius made him and Jake Gyllenhaal brothers), Maguire's got a banner year next year with the release of Baz Luhrmann's The Great Gatsby and Ang Lee's Life of Pi. So why is it that Tobey looks so sad?
Campaign photo for the Simone Perele Fall/Winter 2011 Caressence Collection.
Photo: Courtesy of Simone Perele
There's something so reassuring about people telling me about the restorative properties of aloe vera. It feels so '90s. Like, when I didn't know that no matter how much money I'd make or how many impressive and fascinating people I'd meet and how many pairs of shoes I'd hoard in a secret crevice in my third closet, that I would feel oddly hollow. Not an entirely unpleasant experience, just sort of, vaguely cool. Not unlike how I'd imagine aloe-infused underpants would feel on your ladyjunk.
Al Pacino and Whoopi Goldberg at the Tony Awards in New York on June 12.
Photo: Getty Images
God bless us. That this photo exists at all makes me so happy. I know the fashbloggeur in me should unspool these guys' guts for showing up to a televised award show looking exactly this way but who the hell cares? It's the Tony Awards. A.K.A. the Antoinette Perry Award for Excellence in Theatre A.K.A. some thing that only media Twitterer-types, Alec Baldwin (... I love you, sir) and glee club dorks watch (ahem, A.K.A. Gaby our editorial assistant *cough* NERD *cough*) so it's all amongst pals and friends and industry insiders and randos who Ina Garten, the Barefoot Contessa, would make $40 sandwiches for.
Besides, it's Pacino and Goldberg. These guys aren't really even people anymore, they've been burning so famous for so long that they've long been distilled to a pencil drawing of a face and a rousing collection of catch phrases. Maybe a smell.
Taylor Momsen of The Pretty Reckless performs at the Download Festival in Castle Donington, England, on June 12.
Photo: Getty Images
While there are many ways to slyly jab at the delicate, birdlike ribs of Taylor Momsen regarding this, her latest sartorial effort, we will try our best to refrain. The thing is, Little Jenny is "little" no more, and since parting ways with the CW juggernaut Gossip Girl, she's been focusing on her music (with a little time portioned off for other creative ventures such as braiding one's hair and slashing Sonic Youth T-shirts in a way as to optimize side boob). And we're STILL thrilled that she's deigned to wear pants on tour with relative consistency. Plus, it's not as if she's clamoring into cars with no underpants on; she's merely indicating where she would prefer not to be electrocuted should lightning strike this particular festival in Leicestershire.