israeli exports

Bisli, Tzahal T-shirts, Bar Rafaeli.
Question: What more can the U.S.A. (unoriginal states of ameri-can't) steal?
Answer: Yael Naim is now being featured in a Mac Book commercial.
She should have never learned English.

best worn with bible-belt

I truly believe that Chloe Sevigny is the only person in this world who could make polygamy look hip. I would never share my man with her, but I most certainly would share my clothes.

The plans for our trip to the biggest, bestest Apple are well underway. Prick suggested we make a stop by Opening Ceremony, where we will strictly just be "browsing", not touching, buying, wearing, keeping, owning, cherishing, or loving forever and ever. Tear.

The reason, obviously, would be to see Sevigny's line.

Out of all of the celebrity-conceived clothing lines released in the past year or so (not much competition, thank you Lauren Conrad) it's surprisingly the most digestible. Naturally, it's rather Quaker-chic, perhaps she drew inspiration from her Big Love wardrobe, but it's different, and it's creative, all together cohesive, and it looks like she might have actually designed it herself – a fresh idea in the world of celebrity fashion.

Alas, nothing entirely new, and nothing I've never seen or wouldn’t expect to see in H&M, but it sure beats the pants off of Jovovich-Hawk.

It takes a very secure woman to wear taupe and fawn dominated florals and still feel sexy.
Congrats to Chloe, and Bea Arthur.

DIY: professional pencil pushing

It feels as if everyone's a bloody Arthur Baldwin Turnure these days. I say this with the utmost respect, and a pinch of envy. I've been limiting my 'social experience' lately because school has been so demanding. It's hard to get around in heels while your ankle is chained to a lap-top, proverbially speaking, that is.

And I find myself frustrated beyond words, which is troublesome in that words are what I'm banking on, and often find myself looking for ways to cut corners. If actions speak louder than words, and here we are again with a conflict of interest, then perhaps I should be actively pursuing the field, rather than sunning myself on the lawn of academia.

Adrian and Sarah are preparing to launch a magazine. And the plan isn't just a composite of fluffy rhetoric and wishful thinking. They're actually gonna do it, folks! And I attended another magazine launch on Monday, only finding the time today to breeze through the matte pages of the product over caffeine, with the dynamic duo.

If anyone can throw a collection of pseudo-clever observations at a stock pile of graphic art, call it a quarterly and publicly celebrate it – then why can't everyone?

Today we talked about spending time with people who enthuse you, or motivate you, the type "AV's" that make you go home with an empty coffee cup and contemplate your comparatively languid lifestyle. Or at least challenge the prerogative of Conde Nast.

And tomorrow is already Thursday.

in the middle hour

These are the dreaded in-between days. I'm stranded in between two weekends. I'm idling between last night's troubled sleep, and tonight's compensating one. I'm in between the winter and the spring, parkas and light jackets. I've been completely blocked, utterly bored, and running on empty.

Then it was Easter, and everything closed. And I'm Jewish. So I took refuge in the high-rise without pause for 72 hours.

[PIN] AV: I just can't wait, my winter blues have gone way too far into March, and I'm feeling sick from all this chocolate.

[PIN] Carli Mia: I didn't even get Easter chocolate.

I thought going out, going west on a Monday night, would cure my in-between doldrums. Murphy, Chames, Hannah, the nice chaps from Shuter Street (and I) met Sarah Nicole in her hood – she swears it's a place where dreams come true, a geographical over-the-rainbow, a twenty-block stretch of only the prettiest faces the city boasts to offer. She also is the reason I'm atempting to post today at all ("just write about it..."). We danced, and drank, and drank and drank, one drink after the other, leaving no space in-between each drink, each blurred minute, a blink-speed between sober and slovenly. I don't think anyone feels any better.

a real snip

I got my hair cut by a real live professional today.

It was tough finally letting someone else touch my hair after years of self-trimming and coloring. I've been my own Ken Paves for so long, it was hard to let go. Nathan, (that was his name, Nathan) was so prudent. He listened to exactly what I wanted, and he also had a fabulous accent. I'm a sucker for accents.

He's been in Canada only a few weeks, from Australia via England.

I'm pleased beyond articulation. If Friar Tuck had been born a woman, I would be her. And I say that with pure satisfaction.

How To: wear/return

Sadly, for my bank balance at least, I've always been a believer in never wearing the same thing twice if I can help it, and if I must, absolutely never in the same crowd. (But really, which crowds aren't the same?) Perhaps it’s a slight narcissism that leads me to believe that someone might actually notice if I did, and thanks to my mother who always said, 'for Christ sake, the world doesn't revolve around Carli', I can understand that.

But at the very slim chance that mother is wrong, and the world is, in fact, truly orbiting around me at all times, a girl's got to be prepared.

The wear/return. An age old practice that has been enabling young women, like myself, to temporarily expand on their frock repertoire every time the weekend rolls around. I've been exercising this method for a few months now, and have developed some tips, or guidelines, if you will, that make the scam that much easier to pull off (or put on --without ruining, that is).

Tag Placement: Don't be stupid. You're not going to get the tag back on when you're done with the garment. That's why it's imperative that the tag is located inside the garment, or in a place (the armpit on a sleeveless item, the nape of the neck, etc.) where you can tuck it in, and it will stay put without straining the tag or the material.

No Whites: I don't care if you've gone your whole life without spilling a drink or wiping out in the bathroom. Guaranteed that if you wear white, you will wreck it. There is always a first time for everything. White is never necessary. Unless it's your wedding day. But pal, if you're too bust to buy your own wedding gown, I suggest you ditch this guy, and find yourself a nice Jewish doctor.

Don't Be Hasty: Just because you are planning to give it back when you're done with it doesn't mean you don't need to give much thought to your selection. Sure, it's a one time wear, so why does it matter that you've got nothing in your closet to go with it. Wrong! Only pick things that you could potentially imagine permanently incorporating into your wardrobe. If something does happen, and your slovenly best decides to ash on your sleeve because she's too busy trying to get the attention of a certain male smoker than actually smoking herself, you're stuck with the item whether you like it, love it, or not. Accidents do happen. (see: Sean Preston and Jayden James)

Au Du Naturale: No perfume. I've been hassled during a return because my dress smelled like "patchouli". Not only did I have to fight to get them to take it back, I was thoroughly offended that he thought it was patchouli. I mean, really.

Hang it Up: When you teeter in on your heels at three in the morning you're usually thinking of one of two things; a) I wonder if this pizza would be ok cooked in the microwave, or b) how many advils is too many advils. Before you inhale your second dinner, or O.D. on ibuprofen, take the damn thing off and hang it up. Do not toss it in a heap on your floor. Wrinkles are conspicuous.

Wear/Return not Wear/Exchange: After your first time bringing baby home, wearing baby once, and taking baby back, people tend to get cocky. The worst thing you can do is go back to the store with Friday's dress in hand and start looking for Saturday's number immediately. Do not exchange one for the other. It's a nasty habit, and eventually you'll end up with a big, long receipt showing multiple exchanges, separated only by days. Just because they work in retail doesn't mean they're (necessarily) brain-dead. They do know the days of the week. They will catch on.

Borrowers Can't Be Choosers: If you think you're about to adorn a Philip Lim 3-point-anything, you're aiming too high. Stick to the stores that everyone knows you frequent, although you may hesitate to admit. Preferably stores with hundreds of discourteous employees, and stock that turns over more times in a week than you do in your sleep. Lets be honest, this is small-time con, not Conrad Black.

Disclaimer: Naturally, some might look at this and think I'm encouraging theft. I'm not. I'm advocating for borrowing, and budget conservation. Thank you.

whiteout night out

Eyes wide shut. Pictures this bad only happen once a leap-year.

Because of the unprecedented snowfall, people across the city were forced to rub up against one another and drink hard alcohol all in the name of survival. Daylight savings stole an hour, and then I stole these pictures, thanks to something (or someone) fabulous.

many happy returns of the day...

Tomorrow's the big day.
Happy birthday to my most fearless companion, who never, NEVER untags.
Who orders Shirley Temples without shame. Who spits vulgarities out like toothpaste in the morning, no matter the company, mixed or otherwise.
Beaver guts and Fran-fries, friendships that will last a lifetime, or at least until one of us graduates or drops out.

fashion twin-famy

A long-time, yet recently wavering, subscriber to the MK & Ashley faction, I was really confident that The Row, the twins' upmarket fashion line, would astound. I was curious as to how they were going to blend bag-lady chic with semi-smutty-executive glamour. Since I read yesterday that the girls are looking to put out their first fashion book, I decided to finally get a glimpse of the line, and then I found my answer.

Apparently the girls attempted to discover a way to mesh manure with mature, and came up with, well, nothing.

The Row looks like what would happen if Joe Mimran stopped eating, started a strict daily regiment of Barbiturates, and decided to draft a side project.

The clothes aren't cheap, either. It costs a pretty penny to look pretty drab at the hands of Michelle Tanner.

The shocking part of it all is that the girls usually look so good. Granted Mary-Kate typically looks elegantly strung-out, but she works it. I truly thought they would be acme designers.

Every proven (or in this case) potentially good designer has buttressed on the side of error. For instance, the train wreck of a discounted "line" that Roberto Cavalli showcased at H&M this past fall, or how about the time that Hitler commissioned Hugo Boss to make the Nazi Gestapo uniform – and he did it.

The moral of the story is, and I speak mostly to Mary-Kate because I've never cared much for Ashley, pioneering the flaccid ascot look and a few spots on Weeds can only take you so far. I can look past your involvement with Heath's expiry – but those kimono sleeves are truly unforgivable.