This, my friends, is the best-dressed attendee at New York Fashion Week: it’s Alexander Wang’s niece. The only quibble I have with the outfit, which is, I believe the fashionistas refer to it as “adorbz” yes, that’s the technical term, is, like the Queen, what the heck can she be keeping in that very expensive Chanel bag? Lipstick? Credit cards? Car keys? Plastic dinosaurs?
That’s my boy. Very few people know that back in ’92 and ’93 I was actually a founding member of the George Stephanopoulos Fan Club, and a contributor to their monthly newsletter, the Stephanopouletter. My copy of The War Room has nearly worn out from being watched every 4th of July. I saw him in person at the Vancouver Summit, where I looked up from my glamorous work unloading the coffee for Starbucks, saw him, and froze. It’s not too often I’ve had my breath taken away, but that was one of those times. An American Secret Service agent who’d no doubt seen this happen to dozens of hapless women walked over and said, “That’s George Stephanopoulos. But he’s not old enough to date.”
Le Sigh.
Where was I? Oh, right. In the spirit of bipartisanship I’ll try to remember to feature a picture of Young John McCain at some point in the future, or you can just cheat and click through for that.
Of that tragic saque, we shall not speak. No, we are only going to harsh on the (undoubtedly expensive) hair today.
The people choose not to say anything, because they can't say anything nice
My sister once paid a guy three figures to give her dark roots, but she’s a real blonde. And she never would have paid extra to have a visible line of demarcation between her real hair and her extensions. And even if she were a spokesmodel/actress/whatever for Covergirl, she’d know better than to wear that much blush and undereye concealer. I’m increasingly coming to the conclusion that the terrorists are concentrating on “makeup bombing” Hollywood stars to demoralize the populace.
Let’s distract ourselves from the end of the world with some good ol’ gossip links, shall we?
“When my mother was about 7, my grandmother locked her in the closet. So, after my mom had been in the closet for about an hour, she asked my grandmother for a glass of water. My grandmother, naturally, said ‘Why?’ and my mother said ‘Because I’ve spit all over your dresses and now I’ve run out of spit and I wanna spit all over your shoes.’ These are the people I hail from.”
— Carrie Fisher
She’s also the author of one of the best opening lines in history, “I never should have given my phone number to the guy who pumped my stomach.”
Oh, even I couldn’t bring myself to make that pun about Dita von Teese, the woman who brought elegance back(?) to the profession of ecdysism. She’s seen here a) schooling Christina Hendricks in how to wear florals and b) launching a super-high-end Cointreau Coffret, which is basically a jewelry box full of booze and two glasses, which is generally the sort of thing I need, so call me, Cointreau. Americans can enter to win it by following the instructions at this link.
Manolo the Shoeblogger is not Mr. Manolo Blahnik. This website is not affiliated in any way with Mr. Manolo Blahnik, any products bearing the federally registered trademarks MANOlO®, BlAHNIK® or MANOlO BlAHNIK®, or any licensee of said federally registered trademarks. The views expressed on this website are solely those of the author.
has nearly worn out from being watched every 4th of July. I saw him in person at the Vancouver Summit, where I looked up from my glamorous work unloading the coffee for Starbucks, saw him, and froze. It’s not too often I’ve had my breath taken away, but that was one of those times. An American Secret Service agent who’d no doubt seen this happen to dozens of hapless women walked over and said, “That’s George Stephanopoulos. But he’s not old enough to date.”
