Dear Scarlett Johansson

No.

Karlie Kloss Has a Gun...

And she's not afraid to use it.

(Hint: It's in the turban)

Kloss continues to channel classic film noir femme fatales, as seen here in the recent Gaultier HC show in Paris. And let's not forget her dead on Betty Bacall for Dior:

Ave Madonna

Full of Grace Jones, D&G is with thee.

A&F Still Masquerading as a Clothing Company

Despite its lack of clothes.

Frail, mustachioed men hiding in the corners of darkened movie theaters: rejoice!. The A&F Quarterly is back!

After depriving the world for seven years of their well-muscled male models in homoerotic situations, Abercrombie is once again displaying firm, bare man asses, but with an occasional girl thrown in to spice things up.

And who should be at the helm but that professional ass-grabber, and fairy godmother to the girls at AnA, Bruce Weber?

Uh-oh, a vaguely black girl! This is change I can pretend to believe in.

I know I'll be pre-ordering mine.

Fonda Memories

My favorite movie about a hooker with a heart of gold (fuck you Julia), Klute, gets the Vogue Nippon treatment with professional lamppost, Freja Beha Erichsen in the lead role. And...this can't be right...it's shot by Terry Richardson...? That voyeur visionary and in all reality, total perv? Well I'll be darned. Who's been teaching tricks to that old dog?

Heterosexual Coupling Never Looked So Good

Chameleon/nouveau supermodel/Philly bitch, Sessilee Lopez and the latest target of my stalker's night vision binoculars, Wendell Lissimore, burn up this editorial from The Contributing Editor.

First Grace Jones, now Iman. I want this girl channeling every black female (and the occasional male) model of the past 50 years. And after those five minutes are over, I want her jumping in American Vogue.

I love the tongue on the left, so why play hard to get on the right? Starts ta poppin' those balloons, girl!

Throw this on the cover of i-D and call it a day.

Cockblock much?

I'm secretly a big fan of preppy clothing and this has inspired me to come out of that particular closet. Every other one having had its door broken off the hinges ages ago.

I kinda hope they're spitting into each other's mouths. Hot. Just me?

Funk. Yes. I want an entire family of kids who look exactly like this. That would solve every problem that exists in the world today. You're welcome...now give me my damn Nobel Prize.

The matching outfits continue but I'm certainly not sick of it. If real couples dressed like this, I might not want to pelt them with the relentless stones of my bitterness. I also want that khaki jumpsuit. Preferably the one on Sessilee so I can show off these pins.

Summer!

R.I.P. Akimbo

1934-2010

Thank you for being a friend.

Who Let Lester Out of Her Cage? Akimbo

Where am I? I don't need this fur - throw it on the floor! Now, look at all this skin darling, look at all of this lavender draped skin. You just can't handle it. I can't even look at it in this headpiece Gaga borrowed from me last week. Oh well, I'll just give them so leg...

Breakfast at Tiffany's, Bombing at Barney's ... Akimbo

Let's talk about ... reading. It's summer, kids, and with booty shorts and Soon Yi's visa renewal comes the Armed and Akimbo book club! First up is a super VIP event tonight for the thrilling new novel American Subversive, which in the span of three caffeine pills takes on the "new" Manhattan scene (do you know where Weehawken is?), the "new" media, domestic terrorism, fabulous department stores and most importantly trashy Meatpacking whores.
The book also reveals bloggers for who we REALLY are: intelligent, inquisitive, enterprising, courageous, unique, talented ... wait where am I?

McNally Jackson

52 Prince St.
7:00 pm

Why read it, when there are oodles of Vogues, Ws, Outs, Interviews, GQs and Butts that demand taloned page-throughs? Well, first and possibly most important, us AnA girls are a tad attracted to the hot author.

David Goodwillie: I'll run spellcheck on YOUR underground fringe group!

Anywho, see you tonight!

Hunch of the Day // Japanese Jacknife

Maggie, Am I Floating?

If so, I'm going to use my Laboutins to pierce whatever balloon is keeping me mid-air so I can fall face down onto this delicious piece!

Johannes, can you hear me?

I like my bird roasted. No wait. Undercooked. Moist. Perhaps a little ... unplucked. With the head attached. Are those ... Swallow? With a nice ... Bearnaise sauce. Thanks, Made in Brazil. Soon Yi is bringing us home early.

Updog Akimbo

Yoga never looked so good. I hate to think how those rocks feel against his manhood, however.

The Fern Is Always Greener

Or Absence of Mallis...


Bespectacled visionary and reality show alum, Fern Mallis is catwalking from IMG to start her own company. The fashion world heaves a collective sigh. Then passes out from the extra exertion.

Feeling Conjugal...

I chased down a baby ostrich, killed it with my bare hands, plucked some ass feathers and threw it on a hat just in time for my wedding to one Ms. Enrique Martin.

He cried tears of joy when he saw me...or that might have been because I videotaped the murder and put it on repeat as a slideshow projected over his head for the entire ceremony.

It was a really beautiful and classy affair.

Some Promises Are Obviously Meant to Be Broken

According to the gals over at Fashionista, Naomi signed a promise not to throw her phone while in the presence of Mama O's audience.

In other news, the body of Gayle King was found stuffed into a Louis Vuitton travel bag with a Blackberry wedged in her forehead. Naomi's people have "no comment."

Oh hi....

What do you think of me, streetside, after I deathdropped across the Spring 2010 Chanel couture runway?

Do you like my patent heels? The super blue jeans? The snake of my bag? How about the understated wrapping of my fur? The more dead and tortured souls flung about my impossibly broad-but-bony shoulders, the better, as long as I can use the heads to clasp it all together. What else. How do you find the bang? The bow? The bump? Do you find the gray streak a witty allusion to the typical, sophisticated Chanel customer or a bit overdone? What about my return to the catwalk after being called too-thin by some? To them I say: shut up.

Ann Taylor (sp?) Akimbo

Have you ever found yourself running down Broadway, late for a design consultancy meeting at J. Crew, when suddenly a glimpse of the Ann Taylor window on 9th street makes you trip over your Alexander Wang Fall 2010 black leather dominatrix heel? It happened to us AnA girls just today because of the dumpy-lady's delicious new advertising campaign: young, sunny and most deliciously thigh-high.

Part-time Pink girl and full-time dress size 6 Behati, leaning, sans bold shouldered blazer in sight.

You better work that wall, girl.

Indian model Lakshmi Menon knocks down all sorts of white, boring, Eastern European barriers by landing this big old advertising job. Who was the last dot to carry this sort of photo? Freida Pinto? Any old who, Lakshmi will be the first time ANY Indian will be seen in malls across America. And for that we say: thank you.

GO. HEAD. QUEEN.

Christmas came early this year and Ru's the tree. Though she might as well be a stocking as she's certainly hung with more than just care.

I sincerely hope you've been watching this season of RuPaul's Drag Race (start yo EN-GINES) because it's the best thing on TV. Sorry, Glee (though this makes a strong argument).

Tranny's Angels

Last night was the epic season finale and Ru and her goils seriously delivered. The top three -- Tyra Sanchez, Raven and Jujubee -- had a Dynasty moment with Ru, learned fight choreography with the best person ever and filmed scenes for the "Jealous of My Boogie" vidjo. Juju had to sashay away, leaving Raven and Tyra to lip synch. For their. Lives.

There she is, just laughing and kee keeing with all y'all.

When the glitter settled, there was one queer winner. The other Tyra. Or, in all drag realness, the only Tyra. Girl brought it hard and consistently throughout the entire season, which was shockingly even better than the first.

The girls and I laughed, we cried, we threw shade and then we strutted around in our heels during the equally epic reunion show. Honestly, if Drag Race doesn't win an Emmy, I plan on stealing the one the other Tyra allegedly won, driving by RuPaul's house and throwing it in her god damn face.

Long live the tranny!

Cinematically Cinched...at the Waist

Now, Voyager (1942)

Starring Bette Davis, Claude Rains, Paul Henreid
Directed by Irving Rapper
Costumes by Orry-Kelly

The power of clothes to transform one's sense of self, i.e. the makeover effect, has been explored for ages. Shaw's Pygmalion, every cycle of Top Model, Nicole Richie...and one of the best examples is this little melodramatic gem starring the one and only Bette Davis.

For the love of god, does anyone have a set of tweezers?

Garnering one of her 11 Oscar nominations, Davis plays perennial spinster Charlotte Vale. Charlotte is dowdy, has an unruly brow, drinks clandestinely to cope with life (no judgement there, sister) and has never met an unflattering floral house dress she didn't like. Constantly under the thumb of her overbearing mother (the wonderful Gladys Cooper), Charlotte has no hope or confidence.

No, these aren't shoulder pads. Why? Jealous?

Enter psychiatrist Dr. Jaquith (Raines) who valiantly rescues Charlotte from her despair. Feeling better, and with a new wardrobe in tow, Charlotte embarks on a cruise where she meets handsome Jerry Durrance (Henreid).

This isn't the only thing I'm good at sucking on if you catch my drift...

The two fall in love and Charlotte's transformation is complete. However, there's only one problem: the bastard's married. They decide to ignore their love for one another and live their lives separately.

That's right, take it in. Touch this skin, honey. Touch all of this skin.

Meanwhile, Charlotte returns home and gags everyone with her stunning transformation. No longer cowing to her mother, Charlotte stands up to her and soon begins attracting suitors. However, when her mother dies from a heart attack after one of their arguments, Charlotte runs back to Jaquith where she meets Jerry's daughter, Tina, also under the good doctor's care.

Did I just wander into a middle school production of The Hours and are you little Virginia Woolf?

Seeing herself in the shy, homely girl, Charlotte takes Jerry's daughter under her wing and helps her to come out of her shell. Charlotte and Tina become inseparable and Charlotte takes the girl home with her.

What's in this? Chronic? Hashish? Cuz I am FUCKED up.

Jerry and Charlotte are then reunited, but theirs is a love that can never be. However, Charlotte remains a force in Tina's life on the grounds that she and Jerry end their affair for good. And they part with the classic line: "Don't let's ask for the moon; we have the stars."

Turn. It. Tranny.

Charlotte's transformation is not just about her clothes, but they are an essential part of the equation. The clothes seldom make the woman, but what's better to turn a frown upside down than a new outfit?

Yeah, that's right, I just lit my cigarette on a dead homeless man. And I killed him. Who's gonna judge me?

Originally, Charlotte could care less about fashion, but once draped in Orry-Kelly's chic ensembles, she becomes a lady of style and sophistication. Yes, one's transformation must begin from the inside, but if the outside's still the same, the change is incomplete; it's not as believable or as profound. And if there's one thing clothes are good for, it's making a profound statement.