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Monthly Archives: July 2016

Dumb Clothes

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La’ve got the sh*ts. (“What’s new?”, you ask.) Today, my sh*ts are with Dumb Clothes. Hate ’em.

Case in point:  the ‘cold shoulder’ (CS) trend.

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Yup: cashmere, draping, long sleeves and BARE SHOULDERS. I love you Scanlan, but did you outsource your thinking to that well-known rocket scientist, Melania Trump? That’s $500 worth of stupid right there. Can someone ploise explain this trend to moi? Am I missing something? (Something aside from shoulder-coverings?)

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Even CR’s winter collection hopped on the CS bandwagon. Apparently winter CS clothes are not only Dumb, they’re rust-coloured as well.

And then there’s Milly, with a cold shoulder thing so drastic it’s almost a cold bosom thing:

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I mean, srsly?!? You would have to have the side-boob of a goldfish to pull this off. Oh — but hang on, if that were the case, what would hold it up? As FC would say, Christ on a ship! Jesus on a bike! My head’s spinning, and my teeth are chattering so hard they might fall out.

Here’s another example of Dumb Clothes: the ‘pointless addition’.

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This asymmetrical, slack-strapped booby-squisher-slash-WTF is a perfect example. Does it prevent lung disease? Is it to audition as an extra in a Blade Runner remake? Is it one-tenth of Rey’s next Star Wars outfit? Bassike describes it as a ‘stretch rib strap detail top’. La describes it as a heap of steaming horsecrap, an embarrassment to the baby elastanes that gave up their infant lives to make it.

Not to pick on Bassike, but — oh frock it, let’s keep picking on Bassike.

I give you: the back-to-front, chopped-shoulder windcheater.

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Was so ready to hook into the ridiculousness of this look until…until…a memory…

Years ago, La had a tri-striped cardi from Cherry Lane. Bloody loved that cardi. Chunky horizontal slashes of navy, red and bone, with big, shiny navy buttons; it was style incarnate for Brisbane in 1988. It was also, however, BRISBANE — a place where even the flimsiest of cardis is, in the well-worn words of La Mamma Trivialista, as usless as tits on a bull.

An invitation to an 18th in the city where I grew up arrived, and I decided I’d wow the hicks with my big-city sophistication (even Joh-era Brisbane was The Big Smoke compared to…Gosford). Looking for inspiration in all the wrong places, I made the call to draw it from here:


I wore my Cherry Lane cardi backwards, in November, to a boy’s 18th birthday party, in Gosford.

Holy hell, the sh*t that rained down on me that night…*shudders*. Brings to mind Winston Smith’s terror at being trapped in Room 101 with the rats at the end of Nineteen Eighty-Four.

Like I said, I hate Dumb Clothes.


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Channelling La Wintour today, with a couple of stacked sparkleneckpieces.

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If only I had her job, friendship with Baz and CM, forehand and daily blowdries.

Speaking of polished façades and shiny surfaces, am continuing la quest to spruce up the old girl’s (aka Palazzo Trivialista’s) make up.

Her tessellateds are being redone by the indomitable Frank, tiler to the fine wallahs of the inner-west, but I need to decide on a ‘riser treatment’.

Riser treatment

*Note: stunt stairs in use; not the Palazzo’s landing strip (STOP IT!)

No, it’s not a potion to help you spring out of bed, it’s what you do to the in-betweeny bits on your stairs.

Tossing up between these two:

Found them at the venerable Chippendale Restorations, where I occasionally go to fondle heritage artefacts. Always overwhelmed by the acres of doors and windows.


Was slightly alarmed by these instruments of torture:


But fondled them nonetheless.


Whinged on Facebook about my dire blowdry on Sunday. Visited a petting zoo in the afternoon and was, oddly, transfixed by this exotic chook. Couldn’t understand why until I realised it was like looking in a mirror. Obv some mad hairdryer-wielding man had slathered her weeny head in mousse and ‘fro-ed her up, too. See the downward droop of her little beak? She’s Not Happy Jan. And I get it.

Or maybe la beak is downcast at the parlous state of Australian political affairs. The level of discourse is high — NOT. Those trumped-up high school debaters and their backroom boys and girls calling each other “bed wetters“? That’s an insult to developmentally-average three-year-olds. All of them oozing smug self-righteousness as they label each other “mendacious“? (Embarrassed to say I had to google that one, but LOVE it and will deploy it daily.) PaulinefarkingHanson smeared all over my telly, again? I thought that fake-ranga nightmare faded around the same time as the bootleg jean. This go-round the numb-nut’s calling for a “Royal Commission into Islam”. What the fark??? Cripes, I’d rather have a screenful of Cersei Lannister stumping for the High Sparrow (before she fried him alive).


Srsly need to get La Mamma Seriousimo onto those Lithuanian passports. It’s all so sane, La’m sure, in the hallowed political hallways of Vilnius. And I bet they have killer heritage tiles.

Ciao x