I have a walk-in closet but it's in New Jersey...

Mistress for Bagpoor: Celebrity Style File

2012-01-12T15:57:00.000-05:00

"Just pop me in the oven at 350 until my skin is nice and crispy.."

If your New Year's resolution is to try super-hard not to look like a trussed lamb or a member of C+C Music Factory this coming spring, then I feel, rather strongly, that you should read my latest guest post for Bagpoor featuring Chloe Sevigny, or, as she's known to her followers, Lower East Sevigny. Just be sure not to sweat 'til you bleed. That's not healthy.

Hang in there, Chloe! One of these days you'll realize that cooked meat accoutrements do not make fashionable bedfellows.

Click here to be magically teleported to Bagpoor!

© 2012 Liz Shields/I Have A Walk-In Closet But It's In New Jersey...

Mistress For Bagpoor

2012-01-05T20:12:00.001-05:00

From H&M and Donatella to Target and Missoni, we have learned two important facts. One, brilliant minds are even better when bumped together, and two, you can make a lot of money when you put zig-zags on a synthetic poly-blend. So, without further ado or zig-zags or synthetic poly-blends, I present to you Mistress's newest guest spot, The Weekly Celebrity Style File, written for one of Walk-In's favorite fashion blogs, Bagpoor!

Read on, my lovies!

Mistress Walk-In

© 2012 Liz Shields/I Have A Walk-In Closet But It's In New Jersey...

It's A New Year's Miracle, Or Not!

2012-01-04T10:50:00.000-05:00

Rihanna in Tom Ford

Be still my chic-ing heart! Rihanna is wearing a dress that I like! No! Scratch that! Rihanna is wearing a dress that I love! She looks feminine and elegant and not like she's in a costume that would be better suited to a chorus girl in a musical based solely on products that you would use to clean an above-ground pool!

Rihanna, you and I have had it out too many times to count (more than ten, less than a billion), but I am so proud to say that this dress, this one, beautiful, special, sexy-but-not-crotch-y frock, has brought us back together into one fashionably content union! And your shoes don't make you look like you have a horrible disease that only affects body parts lower than the ankle bone! And your hair is kind of fun and not clown-nose red! And your makeup doesn't look like it was applied by a cross between a Kabuki and a dolphin! I'm so proud you've been reading my posts! What? You're exposing a nipple ring through the sheer top portion of your Tom Ford?!

God dammit, Rihanna! What the hell is this about?! You just pissed all over our newly-kindled fashion flame! Ugh! You suck! Wait, would this disgraceful fashion faux-pas put our sartorial romance in a sad location? Would you maybe-possibly-kind-of-perhaps say...that we found style love in a hopeless place? Boo-yah! Your nipple-ringed ass just got top-fortied. Werq.

© 2012 Liz Shields/I Have A Walk-In Closet But It's In New Jersey...

Negative, Ghost Rider

2012-01-04T10:14:00.001-05:00

Mariah Carey, feeling the need. The need for speed. And, also, the need for a floor-length mirror.

I'm not sure which version of Mariah is worse: Above, where she is dressed as a paratrooper stunt double for Maverick (Maverickariah?! Am I onto something?!) for Top Gun II: The Return Of Goose's Ghost, or in that heinous commercial where she screams at her audience that they "CAN MAKE IT" while she flails about in what appears to be the leftover swingy rags from her local car wash. I'm thinking they're each equally as farty as the other, but in this one she has A.C. Slater-style curly bangs, a gas station onesie, and just a nibble-nibble of le toe camelle (French translation. Here at Walk-In, we're a classy bunch). In the semi-words of Commander Stinger, her good taste is writing checks that her outfit can't cash.

So Mariah, although you think you're headed for a ride into the Danger Zone, I feel you should know that you're already there.

I'll Carry You Home

2011-12-16T16:29:00.000-05:00

I have a never-ending love affair with certain areas of Manhattan. I moved to the Upper West Side the day after graduating college so I could start my first job at my favorite fashion magazine. I love that area, my first true "home" after Lafayette College. I love the corner of 54th and 1st, where my second studio was after I had to move because the roof sort of "came off" (!) of my first apartment in a freak rainstorm. It's where my husband proposed to me, and it's where I started my own business. I love Fifth Avenue, especially this time of year, when all the stores are wrapped like presents, and the entire avenue literally smells like roasting chestnuts.

I also hate certain areas in Manhattan. I hate Union Square. It reminds me of doctor's appointments, radiation burns, wounds, and permanently losing my smile. I hate the corner of 16th and 1st, where I never seem to be able to just stroll past the hospital without going in and registering at the front desk. And I hate a very teeny, little townhouse on 61st Street, right between Park Avenue and Lexington, because that's where I was 3 years ago today when my phone started ringing, teary-eyed friends on the other end, with the sad news that we had lost our friend, Leslie Smith.

Below is a re-post from two years ago today that stays with me wherever I go. It reminds me to be grateful for the pleasure of having known such a brave soul. It also reminds me that even though I may have lost my smile, Leslie's memory and her uplifting words can still manage to bring one right back to my face.

One year ago today, the world got a little darker. One year ago today, the world lost Leslie Smith.

When Leslie and I first met, we were freshmen at Lafayette College. Shortly after meeting her, she convinced me to join the girls rugby team, thinking that I had even half the spirit and fight in me that she had in herself. When I barely made it through the first warm-up, she laughed and told the captains that whoever convinced me to join must have been out of their minds. She tossed me her LBI sweatshirt and told me to sit that practice out.

Ironically, Leslie never sat anything out. She had a zest for life that can best be described as contagious. A large group of girls came down to my house in Boca Raton for spring break that year, Leslie included. We had just spent all day at the beach and we were beyond sunburned. We were all so tired and sun-stung that we were debating even leaving the house. Leslie, in an attempt to rally the troops, made it clear that we were all wussies and that spring break came but once a year. We were supposed to go out and have fun, get wild, and not sit in my parents' living room bitching about how exhausted we were.

"I'll give you guys 5 minutes to figure out what we're doing tonight before I pick my nose and start wiping it on your parents' beautiful white couch, Liz..."

Needless to say, we all went out that night and I'm sure we had a blast. And the couch remained booger-free as far as I know, despite Leslie's finger creeping dangerously close to her nose as we moved towards the fourth minute with no set plans. (See above. Seriously.)

I guess it was only fitting, then, that when I got sick shortly after she did, I started getting cards and emails from her telling me to keep strong. I had a great deal of faith in every word she wrote to me. In one email, she talked about the party we were going to throw for each other as soon as we were both well. She would wear her new wig with the "Heidi Klum" bangs and she would make her kick-ass chicken soup. I could decide the dress code. It was going to be an absolutely brilliant celebration.

I started my radiation treatments almost immediately after she began a grueling radiation regiment and I came home from one of my first sessions to a huge care package from her (and her dog, Meadow, of course) with all the appropriate accoutrements one needs to get through some of the more uncomfortable side effects. After that box came I started calling her my "google maps" of sickness because she literally knew exactly what I would need (right down to the special mouthwash and children's-sized toothbrush to the most comfortable slippers in the world) to get through what would turn out to be a bit of a harrowing experience. But more than that, more than sharing all the trade-secrets of radiation, she reminded me to be positive and to stay that way. Hell, we had a party to get to!

Even though we never got to have that party, not a day goes by where I don't think of Leslie and celebrate her. I feel spoiled by the fact that I can sift through cards and emails from my very own personal superhero. I feel extremely lucky that I had the benefit of knowing someone who made good on her 28 years and packed them chock-full of love, life, excitement, and friends to share it all with. So today, or tomorrow, or the day after that, when you're feeling just a bit too burned-out to continue forward, try your best to do it anyhow. Leslie would have wanted it that way.

This Whole Court's Out Of Order!

2011-12-08T19:48:00.001-05:00

Jessica Biel in a Victoria Beckham Sheath and Blonde Ambition Boots

In an effort to keep you all on your toes and full of the gigglies, I often have to conjure up ridiculous (yet, somehow always fitting) scenarios. There was the haiku-fest in honor of the Met Gala (I challenge all who mark that as anything less than true genius), the day everyone inspired me to get all limerick-ish (I challenge all who can find something better that rhymes with "GPS"), and this evening we add to that list, with "How Starlets Would Explain Themselves To A Judge For Looking The Way They Do" with the Honorable Mistress presiding.

We will start with docket ending T-I-M-B-E-R-L-A-K-E. Ms. Biel, you obviously plead guilty as you have purposely webbed your feet not unlike a duck or a platypus. Please state your case.

"Your honor, I try to never leave the house looking too "perfect". Usually when I wear a dress, I have to butch something up a little, as my pillowy lips and almond-shaped eyes can be lethal when paired with my insane figure. So I made sure my shoulders were extra-padded tonight, and when picking out a shoe, I opted for something that would cut me off at a really odd and unfortunate place. Also, I wanted to make sure that just in case anyone thought I had normal-sized feet they were, in fact, made aware that I'm snow-shoeing in a men's size 17 set of canoes."

Young lady, you almost had me with that gorgeous dress, so I hope you'll understand that I do, in fact, find you guilty, as I've never seen feet like that on a woman and, frankly, I'm scared of them. As opposed to serving time in jail, I demand you release your Justin unto me until I'm ready to give him back. NEXT!

Ok, it looks like you're here due to some unfortunate actions taken with a baseball bat and some headlights?

Carrie Underwood in Maria Luisa Hohan and Ryan Haber Shoes

Well, Ms. Underwood, I'd let you explain, but it seems your shoes have already spoken and have incarcerated your ankles via a rogue pair of satiny purple cuffs. When you're clothing arrests you before you hit the red carpet, it's a sign that something is amiss. Please learn from your mistakes. NEXT!

Lea Michele in Emilio Pucci

"Your honor, I'm here today..."

Rachel Berry, you've said enough! Innocent on most charges, especially the one where you look so incredibly hot because no one ever let's you look older than age 8 on your fancy singing show, and except for the one where if you bend over you may end up causing mass hysteria, major rioting, and minor looting. You may serve your time by granting the Honorable Mistress an arc on Glee that will last a minimum of 6 episodes. You're dismissed.

Oh, Jesus Christ. You two again?

Ladies, how do you plead?

"I don't even know where I am. My sister, Ashlee, told me to put on my best church hat and my fanciest grandpa sweater because we were going down to the Piggly Wiggly to steal all the UsWeekly magazines so we didn't have to look at those Kardashian sisters no more."

"Well, Ms. Simpson-Lachey-Simpson, I think you're first mistake was taking fashion advice from someone being worn by an un-dyed slab of cow hide and fancy confetti pants. Continue."

"Also, I want my child to know the pain of being made fun of prior to me putting him or her on a magazine cover for cold, hard cash, so I made sure to wear something that would make my fetus look wide and misshapen."

"Lucky for you, Family Court is right around the corner from Fashion Court. It's all alphabetical."

"What's alphamabetical, Ma'am?"

"Guilty."

Beebz, Goofy, And Santa Walk Into The Most Magical Place On Earth...

2011-12-05T22:10:00.001-05:00

How many idiots featured in this photo does it take to set up a joke? Just one, because you can't actually see the guy in the Goofy costume. Zoom, zoom, zoom!

But seriously, see if you can stare at Mr. Bieber longer than, say, two seconds without beginning to wonder if his legs are magically detached from his midsection. The way I see it, he's on a level red terror alert for having his junk pop right out of his stripedy pants. And I know that Disney is supposed to be the most magical place on Earth, but even they wouldn't be able to spin that the right way. Also, Justiny, I know that crossing your arms makes you look all street and whatnot, but it's hard to throw any cred your way when you're posing like a thug next to Santa Claus Goofy.

Feelin' Froggy?

2011-12-05T17:30:00.001-05:00

In an attempt to prove to everyone down in the bog that she really does, in fact, solely attract frogs (please see: Eddie "Wait-I-Left-The-Mother-Of-My-Children-For-That?" Cibrian), Leann Rimes dressed as an actual lily pad* to support the Trevor Project.

*A lily pad that is precariously balanced on some very spindly toothpicks. Eat a mosquito or two, you fancy frog-esse. I can see your fibulas from here.

Blue Steel For Real

2011-12-02T21:04:00.001-05:00

Kristin Cavallari in Maria Lucia Hohander at the Marine Corps Ball

An overwhelmingly achey part of me sees Kristin Cavallari in this dress and wants to start singing "Cavallari, Cavallari/We adore you, Cavallari!" just like the little micicles in this video:

This reasoning is twofold, really. To start, Cindarelly v. Cavallari? Yeah, totally that. Also, Cavallari looks just a wee bit (read: a lot more than a wee bit) like Madame Cindarelly herself. Quick! Someone get the test for recognizing that fancily-dressed ladies can look like princesses and make me take it so you can see just what "off-the-charts" looks like on paper. Werq.

I think I might have digressed. The bottom line is that she looks so pretty that I'm tempted to "like" this look, Facebook-style, with, like, 67-ish% commitment. But you can understand why I probably have a reservation or fifty. You see, Miss O.C. 2006-ish used to dress like this:

No Disney Princess would ever be caught dead in this get-up, save for Pocohontas, but she also "heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon", so go ahead and make of that what you will.

And, not for nothin', but this tight (and rather scanty) blue rash was apparently uber-contagious, as it ran metallically rampant throughout Southern California at some point when these two were relevent at the same time.

Sausagina Patridge? Is that you?

So, to like? Or not to like? And, most importantly, whatever happened to Pocohontas?

Lemme Borrow That Mop

2011-12-02T17:49:00.001-05:00

What's-a-happenin', Taylor Swift?

Now that the "pleasantries" portion of this conversation is officially complete, I'm gonna need to borrow your hair. Now.

Hasty Post-Script: I don't think there's anything else to say regarding TSwiffer's hair. That golden head o' strings looks like it was placed upon her scalp by no less than a million angels, all sent from Sally Hershberger Downtown.

Hastier Post-post-script: The title for this post was gently borrowed from what is probably the best YouTube clip ever, save for Marcel the Shell. And, by the way, you're welcome for making your weekend infinitely better. Infinitely.

Baby By Beckham

2011-11-29T09:35:00.001-05:00

"Oh, this old thing? It's the new Balenciaga "Baby Skin" satchel in "carnival stripe magenta". Limited edition, signed by my uterus and David's left leg. Don't hold it at the shoulder, dahhling. So gauche. Hold it at the bent elbow. It's super-convenient. I can fit it in most overhead compartments and the trunk of my Bentley. Oh, and it came with a duster but we had to get rid of it. Amniotic sacs can be so difficult to organize, what with all that placenta."

Yup. That'll do. Chip chip, cheerio.

Bundle Of Oy

2011-11-27T17:10:00.002-05:00

Beyonce in Roberto Cababymaker

I've had some issues with Roberto Cavalli in the past (please scroll down) and in the past some more (Scroll down again. There was apparently a lot of ground to cover that week.) But now that I've revisited those "issues", I see that perhaps the source of my problems was not so much Roberto, but J.Lomama* and her incessant need to dress like a sartorially excited, caged bird of sorts. So as I enter into this new era of semi-complete Roberto acceptance, I thank Sasha Fierce up top for helping me make this smooth transition into my new world. I think she will make a fine mother! Because you know what's the same? Making someone who had lukewarm-to-negative feelings towards Roberto Cavalli suddenly have lukewarm-to-a-tad-warmer-than-lukewarm feelings towards Roberto Cavalli and giving birth. Apples to apples, people. It's science.

So not everyone is pregnant in their uteri. Some people are pregnant in their forearms!

Jessica Szohr in Marchesa

So here's the thing: I adore this dress and I adore Jessica "My-name-is-spelled-with-five-letters-but-only-one-of-them-is-a-vowel" Szhor in this dress! I know it's extreme forearming to the max (Bravo show pending..), but for some reason it works! I just hope she wasn't sitting on the non-stuffing side of the Thanksgiving table. That reach could cause the most intense cranberry sauce stain ever. But whatever. She can afford a good dry cleaner. And I'm so glad that she read and thusly followed my post on nude footwear. Yay, Ms. Consonants Forever!

And now I must digress so we can all give some fashion-love to our super-honorable mention of the week:

Hey, Taylor Swift, lookin' all chic and age-appropriate while your contemporaries brag about smoking weed at a birthday party! 'Sup, girl?

And now I'm going to digress yet again and remind all my loverly readers to become a fan of byLangley.com and I Have A Walk-In Closet But It's In New Jersey on Facebook to be entered to win a $150 gift certificate to byLangely.com!!!

*Am I right, Marc Anthony? Am I right?**

**Nice try, Sir Anorexaholic McSkinnyman. I will never take your side! It's way too bony. That, and the fact that J.Lomama asks me to "Pump, pump, pump, pump, pump it up and back it up like a Tonka truck" on a regular basis. Her: 2, You: 0.***

***Ok, so technically that's Mr. 305, a.k.a. Pitbull, a.k.a. Senor Semibonoir****. But I'd bet at least 45 cents that J.Lomama had production credits!

**** Semibonoir, as used to describe Pitbull's, umm, pit boys, by one George Kotsiopoulos, the only one of the four hosts of E! Fashion's Police who I have never heard of before in my life, is a borrowed term that I wish I had come up with on my own. Boner credit where boner credit is due, as they say.

Shopping For Underthings In Your Underthings

2011-11-24T13:34:00.000-05:00

Christine Vancouver Garbo Chemise, $192

Happy Thanksgiving, my gobbly gals (and Dad. Hi, Dad!)!

Welcome to the holiday season, where everything you've ever wanted can be yours at a much lower price than you'd normally have to pay, even if it means having to suffer through commercials featuring a psycho Target-obsessed suburbanite who is laughing hysterically about nothing while her glue gun drips onto her hardwood floors (this commercial, along with the kohl's commercial, makes me cringe endlessly. Go get a damp paper towel and clean your floors, homes...). So, that said, if you're not at all interested in plowing through stores, elbows-up and sharpened in case you need to knock someone out for the chance to get facetime with a pair of Pradas, do not fear! Cuddle up with your new Monrow scarf wrap cardigan*, make yourself some tea, let your elbows lay in a relaxed position, and keep your credit cards at the ready! ByLangley.com, who, in case you've been living in an internet-free Hades of sorts, I've been swooning over again and again and again, is offering 25% off the entire fabulous site! So, with that information in hand, hop to! And don't forget to become a fan of mine and byLangley's so you can be entered to win a $150 gift certificate! Time is running out!

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! Safe shopping!

*Oh my goodness, just buy it already! There is no price too high for chic comfort! Heard it here first...

Tryptophantastic!

2011-11-23T18:01:00.000-05:00

I am thankful for these La Fee Verte Silk Shorts, $60. You should be, too.

Ahhh, Thanksgiving! The day where we are all thankful that the Advertising Director of Kohl's doesn't live next door to us, as we are all ready to throw our turkey carcasses at her/his car for doing this. What a fartbag.

That said, your Mistress is thankful every day of her life, but she certainly doesn't mind having one day set aside where she can be a little more specific. So, without further ado, here is what Mistress Walk-In is thankful for in 2011!

1. My pal Mollie, a.k.a., The Loungenista. Anyone who knows me knows that I lurrrve words that are conveniently made up to suit the context of specific conversations (please see: "Grammy crackers", "prostiboots", "Jeezus Bieber", "Jessican't", "shoetervention", and "9021no" just to name a few), but I also love a gal who goes after her dreams and manages to fill a gaping hole in the retail world. That said, if you haven't gotten it through your skull-pieces*, I am, indeed, once again shamelessly promoting byLangley.com. I can't help it! It's such a fabulous little site! Also, I have yet to find anything in the universe as adorable as this:

Brulee Vamp Teddy, $180

Or this:

Beautiful Bottoms Phyllis Drop-Back Playsuit, $130

And since the Loungenista has so generously set up a $150 Gift Giveaway, you should all be thankful to her, too!

2. I am thankful that Mad men is coming back on in early 2012. It's been entirely too long.

3. I am thankful for these Metalipps by Christian Louboutin, and since I have a sneaking suspicion you're all thankful for moi, I think you should go buy them for me from mytheresa.com, size 39. That will most likely guarantee you will win the byLangley.com giveaway. I would venture to say it's a done deal if you throw in a pair for Mollie, the Loungenista, as well.

Christian Louboutin Metalipp Pump, $895

4. I am thankful for Miss Piggy. Always have been, always will be.

I sincerely hope she has worked things out between Kermie and Foo Foo.

5. I am thankful that Redfoo and SkyBlu decided to continue party rocking. You are sexy, gentlemen. And you do know it. No need to apologize for party rocking again, fellas! I think you are making the world a much happier place by offering up such gems (gems, indeed!) like "Take It To The Hole". I heavily encourage your tight, bright pants, so long as you continue making good music. Also, little known fact, we can all be thankful that your money is being distributed wisely over a diversified portfolio due to Redfoo's second job, which is day trading. He's even been on Mad Money with Jim Cramer. So smart, you boys are!

6. Most importantly, I am thankful for you, my dearest readers and fans, all 401 of you according to my most recent facebook check. I am beyond fascinated that I've been able to work past my technological dumb-assed-ness and somehow get an audience to read my words. I'm a very lucky person in general, but this little, teeny blog that sprung from a dare from my dear husband who literally told me to put my money where my mouth was has blossomed into a full-grown [insert a word here that would describe something that is still rather sprout-ish, but maybe just a little larger than a sprout]. I hope I can provide a little giggle or two through out your day or month or year, and I hope that as I grow to [said thing that is bigger than a sprout] you will continue to follow me, and if you don't, know that you'll probably end up somewhere looking like this.

Here's to a happy Thanksgiving to all of my little turkeys!

*Don't be a dolt! Just buy what you want from that site already! Do it before everything gets sold out because it's so crappin' awesome! You know you're gonna do it eventually! Go! You work hard! You deserve it! Or wait, become a fan of I Have A Walk-In Closet But It's In New Jersey** and byLangley on Facebook and see if you win a $150 gift certificate. Did I mention we were giving away a $150 GIFT CERTIFICATE??!

**Jesus, that is one hell of a long name for a blog about a closet. In New Jersey.

We Need A Holidaaa-aay!

2011-11-22T18:29:00.001-05:00

Monrow Drape Inset Sweatshirt, $168

I was dreaming about this shirt all day long and wishing I was wearing it. It turns out leather jackets do not fare well in this rather British-style precipitation we're experiencing.

So after sloshing about in the pouring November rain (not to be confused with GNR's cold "November Rain", mostly because Stephanie Seymour was not, in fact, running around throwing cake in my errand-run today. At least I don't think she was...), I came to the following conclusions:

1. It might not be a good idea to head to the Fairway Market in Paramus two days out from Thanksgiving. It will make you wonder if organic fennel is really worth roasting. Also, you risk life and limb, and you may be knocked unconscious by an air borne kosher turkey weighing at least 14 pounds.

2. If you need to buy a cardboard box to ship a pair of boots back to a store because your husband tossed the box thinking that it was supposed to go to the recycling place and also because they never said that the boots had an elastic band around the calf and you HATE ELASTIC BANDS AROUND THE CALF, don't carry said box through the rain and then wonder why it turns into oatmeal the second you put it into your car.

3. When I was at an appointment in the city and mistakenly dropped my keys under my car which forced me to drop down like a paratrooper and crabwalk about the undercarriage searching for them, I would have much rather had any of these sticking out the stop of my skinny jeans than whatever it is I might be wearing on my own undercarriage:

Beautiful Bottoms Florence Ruched Knicker, $46

Eberjey Peek-A-Boo Thong, $34

Commando Classic Bottoms Girl Shorts in Poppy, $26

4. It would have been really nice to have come home and sit in my warm house, throw some soup on, and snuggle up in this:

Eberjey Alpine Chic Robe, $187

Or these...

Plush Fleece-Lined Knee-Highs, $29

Or this and this and these....

A Fine Line Noble X-Back Top, $146

Cosabella Hortensia Pant, $66

Arlotta Cashmere Slippers, $91

Or, basically anything that byLangley.com carries, because the fact of the matter is, I'm in love with this site. And for some reason, when I walk into various stores, I tend to miss the gorgeous, uncomplicated pieces and head straight for the ones with 14 different drawstrings, a two-way zipper, and 9 sleeves. And they are all hanging in my closet (yes, the one for which this blog is named..) lonely and somewhat sad that no one ever takes them out.

So because byLangley and Mistress Walk-In don't want you to ever have to worry about what ugliness might be seeping out of your skinny jeans or whether or not your feet are cold because they're in slippers that are not, in fact, cashmere, we are giving away a $150 GIFT CERTIFICATE to byLangley.com! Simply "like" both our Facebook pages and prepare for completely chic and comfortable domination! And remember to share the love--the more you suggest it to your friends, the higher your chances of winning!

Good Golly, Miss Mollie!

2011-11-21T21:34:00.001-05:00

Just a few of the treasures you'll find on byLangley.com!

I have always loved myself a good Molly. There's Molly Ringwald*, Molly Malone, about whom, if you ask nicely (or sometimes not all), my friend Joan** will sing unto you the stories of her cockles and mussels, which sounds dirty but it's totally not. And there's Molly Shannon, who is pretty much just awesome. But, believe it or not, there's another Mollie (hold the 'Y'!) out there, and this Mollie will change your life. Or at least make it better to look at and more comfortable to be in.

Enter Mollie Lang, a bright and beautiful young lady with a dream in her heart and a passion for (and seemingly endless knowledge of) the brilliant combination of luxurious comfort that is chic, pretty, and sometimes even a little sexy. But not the kind of sexy that makes the words "flammable", "wedgie", or "what is that hole for?" pop into your head. More like a, "I wonder if La Fee Verte can line the entire inside of my life with that print?" or "If Monrow and Joie could get together with the fine people at Eberjey and just re-make everything in my closet that would be greaaat, thanks!" kind of thing. And, thanks to the magical powers of Mollie, it is all available in one spectacular place at her new and incredibly well-edited site, byLangley.com!

More of byLangley.com's amazingness!

Now, you are all aware that your Mistress does not hand out compliments all that often, so when I tell you that you will absolutely fall in love with this site, I am not pulling your cockles. Or your mussels. With an outstanding collection of the most sumptuous, stylish, and modern must-haves that you will find yourself suddenly needing and immediately wondering how you have gone this long in your life without, Ms. Lang is about going after all your pursuits, (be them large, like having a healthy and gorgeous baby and launching an incredibly dashing website within months of one another like she did, or small, like going to the grocery store and maybe or maybe not also going to the post office like I do. Or don't.) while looking and feeling like a million bucks. That's no easy feat, but somehow byLangley makes it seem easy and breezy, and you don't necessarily have to break the bank!

So because we want all of our readers to look and feel nothing short of 100% smashing and swanky each and every day, Mistress Walk-In has teamed up with byLangley.com to offer my readers and Ms. Lang's soon-to-be-die-hard admirers an insane chance to win a $150 GIFT CERTIFICATE to byLangley.com! Here's the catch: In order to be entered to win, you must like "I Have A Walk-In Closet But It's In New Jersey..." and byLangley.com on Facebook. If you don't like both pages, then you won't be entered to win! Also, the more people you suggest to both pages, the higher your chances of winning! So if you're looking to treat yourself or someone special in your life this holiday season, don't hesitate to share the love and the Langley!

*I may or may not have waited on line to hug her once. And it may or may not have been last year. And it may or may not have included a friend of mine who I've mentioned as looking a great deal like Lea "One 'L'" Michele. And I may or may not have made my husband get up on a countertop in the bookstore so he could capture the moment on camera for all posterity. And I may or may not have ordered special custom t-shirts that read, "I [heart] Jake Ryan" on the front and "Oh Sexy Giiiiirlfrieeeend" on the back. May or may not. Up to you.

**If you do not remember Joan, please go ahead and click here.

© 2011 Liz Shields/I Have A Walk-In Closet But It's In New Jersey...

Jolly Green Gentlewomen

2011-11-13T17:45:00.001-05:00

Gwyneth Paltrow in Elie Saab

In honor of Walk-In's recent "work" (Oh my god, you would never even recognize her...), I wanted to make sure that the first photo I posted was of ~~Gwyneth Paltrow rocking perfect couture so my new facelift would be further enhanced by my glomming onto her endless, ethereal beauty~~ an eco-concious glamazon. Ok, fine. A green glamazon. A green glamazon who is seemingly eco-concious even though she has a private jet or two or three or nine but that doesn't really make a difference because oh my god look at this dress! I am currently writing this post from the floor because that's where I had to run to pick up my jaw when I saw Gwynilicious wearing this gown. I love, love, love, love this dress with a capital G-I-M-M-E, B-I-T-C-H.

There was definitely a green theme running amok this past week, and everyone who wore it wore it very, very well!

Zoe Saldana also in Elie Saab

I am super-envious of these Elie Saab gowns! Some might say I'm so envious that I'm, umm, green with it. Ha! It is easy being green! Ha, again!

Jennifer Nettles of Sugarland in Naeem Kahn

If I were to wear these dresses anywhere ever, I would spend the majority of the evening explaining to people that no, I'm not ill with some excessively nausea-inducing illness hence my greyish facial tone. Or, for example, that I'm not, in fact, trying to dress like the bloated stem of some foreign, sad, diseased plant. So I commend these lovely lassies on both their good taste AND their abilities to pull them off with aplomb! Brava, amigas!

Boom Badoom Boom, Baby..

2011-11-11T19:52:00.000-05:00

Erin Heatherton, AKA "Gigantor Deelux", and Nicki Minaj, AKA "Pinky Twee, The Petite Smidgelette Clown", At The Victoria's Secret Runway Show On Wednesday

This one is fo' the boys who like shrinky dinks,
Who like my hair best when it's pinky-pink,
They like VS 'cuz it's blazin' hot,
Supermodels that be walkin' got them thinking "WHAT?"!

But I'm wee, I'm twee, I'm too small to see,
I like wearing leggings with some hearts on the knee,
My kicks, hightop, funky like my mop,
I run from these models 'cuz I'm too small to stop.

Walkin' down the runway, Only goin' one way,
Left heels in my Hyundai, Damn it smells like hairspray,
That peace sign skirt is lookin' real boss,
But seeing all the panties makes me wanna floss.

I said, excuse me, I could fit in her thigh,
It's like I am only three inches high,
I mean, she's so high, got her head in the sky,
I'm all "Why, God, why?" do I feel like a fly? Oh!

Yes I'm so, Yes I'm so
Like that little hobbit dude named "Frodo",
I am Smidgelette Minaj, I mack them elfs up,
Yellow belts up, Shoulder armor melt up.

Man I am just feelin' so short todaa-aay,
And this girl's boobies are all on displaa-aay,
They be bouncin' like,
Boom, badoom, boom
Boom, badoom, boom, Boobies. (SUPER BOOBS.)
Boom, badoom, boom

Boom, badoom, boom, Boobies. (YEAH THEY BE SUPER BOOBS.)

Now You Can Wear Versace Elsewhere Than Your Crotch-y

2011-11-09T19:15:00.002-05:00

You know what? You think of something better that rhymes with "Versace". Also, nine times out of ten the only Versace that people can afford is Versace underoos. Hullo? Haven't you ever watched MTV's "Real Life: I'm Getting Married" 30 times on a loop, and the adorable (but annoyingly weepy) gay couple were obsessed with Versace but the only thing they could actually afford was their underpants? Seriously? Yeah. You did.

In order to ring in another fab designer collection to H&M, Donatella Versace had a seriously random group of Donatellings come and golf-clap for her accomplishments at an H&M sponsored fete last night. Apparently this upset one Mizz Emma Roberts who, upon finding out she would not be the only pretty lil' thang invited to said fete, purchased every, single piece from the collection and wore them all at one time:

Emma Roberts, Dressed As A Blacklight Poster At The H&M/Versace Collab Fete

Not everyone wore an entire tube of lipstick or took the invite so literally. Blake "Suddenly-Serial-Hot-Man-Dater" Lively did a far more relaxed interpretation of Versace's designs, and it looked splendid, if not a little bit Rorschach-ish.

Blake Lively Looks In The Mirror And Sees Her Future Boyfriend, George Clooney

An Actual Rorschach Test.

Then there's Jessie Alba, who just decided to go as Russell Crowe in The Gladiator, if Russell Crowe had donned opaque Wolfords and Louboutins and wore red lipstick to fight off tigers and stuff.

"I am required to kill, so I kill. That is enough."

And even though she wasn't at the Versace fete, Nicole Kidman showed up at the BMI Country Awards in Nashville looking a little fishy. No, really. She dressed like a little fishy.

Nicole Kidfish in Stella McCartney, which is ironic, seeing as Ms. McCartney is vegan.

But while I'm here focusing on Nicoles who weren't at the Versace launch, I think we all need to take a moment out and let our jaws drop to the floor like they're made of lead because Nicole Ritchie looked aces at the ACE Awards. Get it? Aces? I know. I thought of it all by myself!

Nicole Richie in Antonio Berardi Spring 2011 and House Of Harlow 1960 Accessories and PLEASE CAN WE HANG OUT, NICOLE RICHIE? I WANNA KNOW WHO DOES YOUR HIGHLIGHTS AND YOUR SPRAYTAN.

Now, let's all go back to a time when Nicole Richie was Lohaning all over the place. She was chubbier, druggier, hanging-out-with-Paris-Hilton-ier, and her hair was pink and blue. Are you at Standard Downtown holding a cosmo sitting next to Jessica Lachey and listening to "Crazy In Love" yet? Good. Now get up, walk out, fast-forward to today, and go preach the Book Of Richie to all of Hollywood's lost little kitties so they know that they, too, can end up on this blog looking freshah than fresh. Oh! And I promise I will never use the term "freshah than fresh" ever again.

Kenough is Kenough is Kenough is Kenough!

2011-11-07T23:37:00.001-05:00

"Hey Justin! Remember me?! I'm Sloth's sister! No! Sloth! From The Goonies? He was rullll into BabyRuths? Yeah, well I'm rulll into babymamas, and I got knocked up by my mom's boyfriend, so I went to all the local news outlets and told them it was yours. BabyRuth?"

Alright. That's it. Kris, Kris, Kim, Konrad Kurray, Kindsay Kohan and Kustin Kieber's not-so-much babymama? Go fart in a shoebox. Honestly. Because at this point in time, I would be super-psyched to hear that any of you farted in a shoebox over hearing about any of your divorces, affairs, or exorbitant eye shadow expenses, the likes of which could easily bail out Greece and Italy. And just so you know, Greece and Italy are in dire financial straits. Betcha you didn't know that! It's not really your fault. As I watched Matt Lauer go kite-boarding off the coast of Namibia today, he was going on and on about the trials and tribulations of one Ms. Kindsay Kohan spending a whopping 4 hours in the clinker. MATT, YOU'RE IN NAMIBIA. WHILST SKIING ALONG THE MOST AMAZING SHORES IN THE UNIVERSE AND BEING PULLED BY WIND. UGH. GET IT TOGETHER, LAUER. Also, according to People, Prince Harry is a meat lover. No, that's not some stupid gay-bashing on the royals, that is a legitimate headline. Prince Harry eats meat. I'm losing my mind. Hey, stupids! Time for legit newsflash!

RIP, KANDY KROONEY

BEST. HALLOWEEN COSTUME. EVER.

Ok, so I'm not sure if any of you give a krap, but Andy Rooney died this past weekend, and I give a krap. So there. He didn't have a reality show or a "K" in his name, but he did write books. Several, in fact! He had bushy eyebrows and he spoke like I wish I spoke when stupid kids run across my yard on Halloween. Click above for a more in-depth glance into his AWE-some brows.

But who cares?! Kim went to go visit Kris in Kinnesota this past keekend. KO. KEM. KGEE.

KWARREN KBUFFET BUYS KEVERYTHING THERE IS TO BUY, LIKE, KLITERALLY.

Ok, so technically Kwarren didn't buy everything, but he was feeling a little down about his boyfriend and he just went OUT of kontrol and blew $20 Kbillion* on kstocks. That's his equivalent of the sad, pathetic chick eating all the ice cream in her freezer on a lonely friday night. You want to know how I splurged this weekend? I bought the non-generic lowfat sour cream to my friend's marathon party. Me and Kwarren, kliving it up!

KDREW KBARRYMORE CHANGED HER KHAIR KCOLOR!

Riiiiight. I'm just trying to not blow your mindholes right away, so I'm tempering the hard-hitting stories with these "softer" ones. Yup! Heard it here fifth! Kdrew changed her hair color to, ummm, all the colors that hair can be at one time? Please review and immediately go back to imagining Kwarren sitting indian-style on his IKEA ksnouzenflurb sucking down some Chubby Hubby...

"At least you're not thinking about a Kardashian! Ooops! Now you are. Oh well! My hair looks like it's kstoned...."

WHY YOU'RE PROBABLY NOT KWORTH IT KANYMORE

So times aren't just tough for Greece and Italy! Oh! Sorry, Kgreece and Kitaly. My kbad. Anywho, geriatrics are kurrently 47 times wealthier than the young folk, so if you're reading this, you're probably not geriatric (unless you're 10 years older than my dad**) which means that you are totes poor. Why do you think Kdrew went and dyed her hair all krazy?? NO MONEY. Yup. That's why she did it.

And I'm not going to bring up Occupy Wall Street (despite the fact that we're talking about poor, young people) because I wouldn't know who to kontakt in order to properly learn more about it. Apparently if I wrote a blog on drum circles, blue hair, and people who kdookie on kdoorsteps, I'd have an award-winning editorial on my hands. The 1% might be in the wrong, but at least they use toilets. I will say no kmore.

So, dear readers, I'm trying very hard to pull my head out of my krear end with all this krazy kuckoo klatter going around. I promise to get back to my regularly unskeduled blogging as soon as kris stops telling me that her poor daughter just needs to "kry it out". What? Have you seen the stone on her finger that she's not giving back by the way just so long as we're diskussing this hot mess? Save yourself a few bucks, forego therapy, and lock yourself in a room with that rock twice weekly for an hour. I believe that's what my people refer to as "werqing" through it.

__________________________

*Kbillion, or, rather, one Kardashian-style billion unit for the sake of this lesson, should not be confused with KA-billion, the technical term for pantloads of money. Ok, so, in review, Kbillion does NOT equal kabillion. Totally different. Class dismissed.

**Hi, Dad! Want your shovel back? Because I won't have to dig my own grave anymore now that I've told the whole kworld that you're not even KLOSE to being a geriatric! Sweet save, huh? You're a spring chick-a-dee! You're a Kardashian!! That's how young you are! Now, give me all your money because akkording to this poll since I'm under 35 I made, on kaverage, $3,500 in 2009 and this pooperskoop isn't getting any better. Great! Thanks!

© 2011 Liz Shields/I Have A Walk-In Closet But It's In New Jersey...

She Don't Mean A Thang If She Ain't Got That Twang

2011-09-12T20:56:00.001-04:00

Leighton Meester wearing Dollywood by Dolly Parton for Kohl's. No. She's not. Please don't go call Kohl's asking where you can get Dolly Parton's diffusion line. They will think you're cuckoo. And I think you're cuckoo if you want this outfit. From Kohl's. Yeah. That's what I said.

Ahhh! Leighton! It has been far too long! So long, in fact, that you have changed from German barminatrix to an actual Upper East(er) Side Egg to a be-mold-ed, post-apocolyptic disco hooker to a hippie-dippy patchouli sniffer and everything betwixt. Now, apparently, you're a little bit country.

The good news? You aren't married to one look. You commit to whatever outfit you decide upon and go full-throttle. Super! A+ for that. The bad news? You really and truly look like a Grand Ole Opry usher who snuck backstage and got a hold of the skinny Judd's rejects, up to and including her wig. Someplace, skinny Judd is singin' out for your precious lil' country heart, "Bluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuue/Blue-ooh-ooh-eeh-ooh/I feel sorry for you/You should feel sorry for you tooooooooo..."

Leighton, have you ever just considered an LBD with a fresh-to-death pair of heels? And you could go, like, MONSTER crazy on those heels! Whatever you like! GO. TO. TOWN. But seriously, Halloween comes but once a year. Celebrate it then. Save the other 364 days of the year for all the good stuff the fashion industry THROWS DIRECTLY AT YOUR FACE FOR FREE, GOSSIP GIRL! And no matter what happens, no matter who tells you it's a good idea, no matter how much you want to jump off your chair and grab it, do not say to yourself, "Well, Salma Hayek is pretty awesome, and her husband owns Gucci and YSL and pretty much everyone else, so I'm gonna copy exactly what she does!", because then you'll end up look like this:

Snooki can you hear me?/ Snooki can you see me?/Snooki can you find me in the niiiiiiight?

Yeah, Salma. I went there. You are the spitting image of Snooks. From your orangey-gold everything, to your insane cleavage, to your pouf, rather, especially your poof, you make dressing up like a high-class Snooki-for-hire rather expensive. So Leighton? No! Bad Leighton! Leeeeighton....! NO! Good, Leighton! Good girl...

And I'm not sure what this Bell/tiff./blackberry/Toronto party event thing was, but you both look ridunk, so I'm gonna go ahead and say it was a "Dress Like You're In Canada And You're Crazy And You Mean It" party. Yup. That's what it was. And you both succeeded.

Itchy Makes Me Bitchy

2011-09-08T23:44:00.000-04:00

"How much longer must I stay in this position? I think my vagina just literally disintegrated from whatever acid-based cloth this dress is made from! Lord help me! I literally have to hold my own face, lest I let go and it lands on the floor and uproariously rises into massive flames!"

Earlier today, I heard a loud "thump" on my front door. Thinking that we were under attack by our local, ummm, geriatrics/soccer moms/next door neighbor who uses paper plates glued to popsicle sticks to warn dogs (WHO CAN'T READ. Wait, can dogs read? Because Milly, my internapoo, cannot. Ruh-roh.) not to relieve themselves on her rose bushes/the neighborhood 6 year-olds whose most violent act was chalking up a crooked hopscotch on the sidewalk/the triplets who live across the street but are quite literally the "help", as they clean, mow, sweep, rake, and paint while the mother can only be seen speeding out of her driveway in a minivan as if the house is going to explode a la a meth lab gone awry, Milly woke from her 23 hour-per-day slumber to bark loudly and alert me to said "thump". She is, like, the best intern ever.

I opened the door to find that my Karl Lagerfeld for Macy's package had arrived and I was so excited because quite frankly, Karl scares me, so I must adore him from afar. My loving husband once saw a picture of Karl and mentioned that he looked like the twisted lovechild of George Washington and Dracula, just more "goth". I can't say that I don't agree. He is a force with which I would never want to reckon. J'adore Chanel. J'want to own everything. J'do own some things. J'they are j'beautiful. I just J'never want to have to deal with him face-to-face, as I feel that immediately prior to spitting on me, he would pull my hair, say "UGH!", and wave his hand in a manner that implies that his assistant needs to rid his environs of my vermin self while he walks away, only looking back to make sure a sufficient number of tears are streaming from my frozen, spit-covered face. I have spoken about him in past posts. He was once asked by an interviewer to name one thing he couldn't live without. His response? "The television in my refridge." Literally. I'm not making that up. He really, truly and honestly said that. His genius is pure. But that said, so is his crazy...

So my point is that his designs for Macy's were plopped down in a sad-looking and rather large plastic bag. I should have just kept the bag shut and not proceeded forward, as that sad, large bag has become my first official Public Service Announcement.

SCRIPT FOR MISTRESS WALK-IN'S FIRST PSA

MW-I: Hi. My name is Mistress Walk-In. I have a genuine interest in and love for fashion.

(Walk forward towards the camera. Stop. Pose in a relaxed stance that implies, "Hey! I'm just like you! I put my fancy-pants on one leg at a time. I'm here for YOU, dear reader. YOU AND YOU ALONE.")

MW-I: As someone who likes a high-low-budget-type of shopping, I recently ordered several pieces Karl Lagerfeld created for Macy's. It was my effort to prove that Karl is for the people! Karl wants the pleebs to wear his masterful and frivolous designs!

(Sit down in a relaxed pose, one hand under the chin, as if to imply, "I've given this a great deal of thought, and nothing is more important to me than the health of my readers!")

MW-I: I was fooled. I created a spectacular world filled with fashionable people in my wee, little mind, and as it turns out, I was wrong. Karl wants to kill us. Karl wants us to break out in rashes from the sheer touch of whatever poly/acrylic/fiery-hell-based products he chose to make this clothing-type creations. He wants to slowly burn the masses who cannot afford his normal genius. He recently purchased a great deal of stock in Benadryl and made this line knowing that upon zipping, buttoning and snapping his supposedly "cute" dresses and tops closed, the entire world of Karl fanatics would have an immediate and quite severe case of hives that require bathtubs filled to the brim with milk, aloe, and oatmeal and doses of Benadryl that could knock out larger breeds of elephants and woolly mammoths and the entire surface area of Rajasthan, India and all its inhabitants, human or otherwise. He wanted to not-so-gently remind the universe that his magical touch only extends so far, and by "so far" he means "Chanel only, bitches". It is my job to walk the mean streets of fashion, but it is very hard to blog when your arms are so red and scratchy that at times, you wish you were the dude from "27 Hours", but the real version, so you could legitimately cut them off, not the James-Franco-Hollywood "cut-them-off" version. That said, do yourself and those around you who may come in tactile contact with any part of your clothed self a massive favor and do not purchase any of these pieces, as Karl would rather see you squirm in writhing, debilitating pain than see you in his cheap knock-offs. Lesson learned, Karl. Go Chanel or literally die a slow, allergic death. Message received.

(Rapidly walk-run like you have lost control of your bladder back to your mild-temperature bath and soak in it. Who cares if the cameras are still on! Your health is at stake! Karl just tried to off you with his poison-ivyed wares! You're not-so-slowly beginning to look like a burn victim! Fuck the readers! You just saved them from their eventual demise via a polyblend-acrylic HEMLOCK! SUE MACY'S FOR PULLING THAT RIDICULOUS SHIT OF A STUNT! SUE KARL, BUT KNOW THAT YOU'LL LOSE AND HE'LL SPIT ON YOU, YOU'LL CRY, AND YOUR HUSBAND WON'T BE THERE TO COMFORT YOU BECAUSE HE THINKS KARL IS A GHOST OF THE MOST BIZARRE UNION OF TWO VERY DIFFERENT HISTORICAL FIGURES! STOP THINKING ABOUT SUING PEOPLE AND TAKE THE BENADRYL! THIS IS A TIME SENSITIVE ISSUE!)

Ok, so basically? TWO HUGE THUMBS-DOWN FOR MACY'S AND KARL. You heard it here first. Lives were saved by a little blog in New Jersey. And if you really want Karl to dress you? Make more money and buy the real deal because from my own personal experience, legit 2.55's and nicely chain-anchored tweed jackets aren't secret-Karl-agent murderers disguised as clothes. And Missoni for Target? I've got my sights set directly on you and your retro-fabulous 10-speed. Don't putz it up, Margherita (And the rest of you crazy-gorgeous, boho-chic, stripe-y, zig-zag Missonis. How you are not in a constant state of complete vertigo literally floors me. I've gotten migraines from simply staring at one of your pillows for too long. I once threw up upon purchasing a scarf, as every time I looked down I lost complete control of my balance and had no choice but to vomit. Seriously. You Missonis are MAD INSANE. But you don't scare me like Karl does, and I'm hoping your tchochkes for Target aren't really ninja assassins out to get me, limb by hive-ridden limb.)

Zut Alores!!

2011-09-08T10:21:00.000-04:00

"Ohh, la la. My fishtailed braid is so cool! 10 year-old girls all across the land will be so jealous of my fancy hair! YESSSS! Score one for the Gallianomeister! I will gently rub my shiny, hair-free, baby-bottom-soft pecs in my own honor. Wait. I'm British by birth and I live in Paris. I meant "in my own HONOUR."

Well, well, well! What do we have here, my anti-semetic, wax-chested, peculiar-looking-mustachioed, racial-slur-er? What's that? I can't hear you over your continuous yelps of "dirty whore" towards a judge, smartypants! Speak up! Oh, what's that? You can't? You've been ordered to shut your dirty-whore mouth? That's fine! I'll just head over to my handy-dandy CNN, first on the scene with all things of mild-to-zero importance:

"Flamboyant fashion designer John Galliano was found guilty Thursday in a French court on charges of making anti-Semitic comments against at least three people in a Paris cafe. He has been fined 6,000 euros but has not been sentenced to prison time. One symbolic euro has been awarded to each plaintiff.

Galliano was fired by fashion giant Christian Dior in March after a video surfaced showing him praising Nazi dictator Adolf Hitler. He testified when the trial opened in June that drugs were to blame.

Earlier in the case judge Anne-Marie Sauteraud read out a list of the abuse Galliano is accused of hurling at Geraldine Bloch and Philippe Virgitti, including obscenities mixed with remarks about their ethnic backgrounds.

"He said 'dirty whore' at least a thousand times," the judge said."

Story Courtesy of CNN.COM

Ok, so 6,000 Euros is probably just your daily odd-mustache-maintianence* budget, but you're still guilty. And I will continue to call you a Hitler-loving bag of soiled baby monkey diapers, as that is, at your essence, what you are. And having been on my fair share of drugs (Ahem! They were medically prescribed and necessary! They took my freakin' face off and used a rib to replace my jaw! And they made me feel sooooo good....), I can tell you that drugs do not, in fact, result in anti-ANYTHING rants. In fact, I would venture to say that I was far more accepting and adoring of all the different walks of life this blue bouncy-ball called Earth has to offer! So don't blame "valium". Or Jews. Or the rain. You saw what blaming it on the rain did for Milli Vanilli.

So as sad as I am that you were not sent to prison (The sheer irony of ugly prison garb and unwanted (Or wanted. I really don't know with you. You kind of strike me as a "love-the-one-you're-with" type...) manparts in your rear end would have been a good enough sentence for me..), I revel in the fact that a very productive and successful Jewish (Eeeeeek!!!) designer named Marc Jacobs will likely replace you at the fine House of Dior, and I can go back to purchasing Benetint, Fresh Clay Facial Wash, Celine, and Fendi amongst others without guilt. Oh, LVMH. It shouldn't have even taken you this long, but I'm glad you came to your senses. Mean people suck, and Galliano could have been mean to any race, sex, religion, or creed and I would have been just as angry. It was his complete and utter nonchalance as he spewed such vile, terrible words towards others that was horrible, and I'm glad that you let him go. I hope he just crawls under a rock long enough for the world to forget about him for a while. And Mr. Galliano? If it really was the drugs talking, then you probably wouldn't have referred to the judge as a "dirty whore" as she forced you to write a check made out to the city of Paris. In the words of my favorite fake Frenchman, "Ehh, Monsieur Galliano. You make my ass tweeeetch."

*I'm seriously obsessed with this skinny worm that has made it's home right atop his upper lip. 'Tis odd. 'Tis very thin. I think he suffers from a case of Mustachorexia. People, Mustachorexia is no joke. It affects one out of every billion manchildren in the fashion industry and must be taken seriously. It is a disease, not a choice. So next time you spot a fashion industry manchild with a 1998-ish over-waxed eyebrow living on the ledge right between his nostrils and his mouth, don't giggle. Just move along and pray that he comes to his senses and shaves it off. Or, for the love of all that is good, grows it out like a 1970's pornstar. The more you know...

HUGE POST-SCRIPT: I have hesitated to post this, but for those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about with regards to Galliano's hellish and horrifying rant, turn up the volume and prepare to cringe and, perhaps, vomit. This isn't ok to say to anyone. Ever. Even if you think your mustache (Seriously. I must get over this facial-hair situation...) is super-coolio. I can think of at least 100 other religions and/or races that would be just as offended by these words or others, specific to their own plight. So as much as I hate this video and HUGELY OPPOSE EACH AND EVERY WORD HE IS SAYING, my readers must be informed. Please know that this video is not appropriate for children and contains horrible language, so please use caution and discretion when playing it. That said, I present you with the actual video of Galliano's ugliest collection ever:

Video Courtesy of YouTube

Come On, Irene

2011-09-07T11:28:00.000-04:00

Oh, my wonderful lil' Wellie-wearers! I have missed you so!

That said, I don't need to be told. I know. It's been a very long while. I have my reasons, but if I told you why I've been gone, it wouldn't make for a particularly fashionable or interesting or comedic post. (Actually, that's a lie. It's actually quite fashionable in a totally fug-city sort of way, interesting in a totally boring sort of way, and comedic in a dark-but-quite-lively sort of way..). But with all the very serious hubbub surrounding the Northeast this summer, I feel there is no better time to pick up my pen and put it to paper. Hush! It's a saying. I know I can't write on my computer screen. I learned that the hard way.

So, basically in one week, the entire Northeast Corridor was subjected to what the rest of the United States experiences on a day-in-day-out basis. We went from an earthquake (And where was I when this earthquake hit? In the ladie's room, thinking I had sipped entirely too much iced latte, as I suddenly lost my balance and thought the room was twirling about. Not graceful. No more details required.) to a mighty skank of a hurricane named Irene. Seriously? Irene was like the ultimate honeybadger. Homegirl didn't give a shit. She just took what she wanted. She don't care. Oh, and apparently what she "wanted" was Paterson, New Jersey. Oh, Irene. Please do help yourself, as New Jersey doesn't really want Paterson, either. It's Newark's older, more "together" sister. Paterson at least got her G.E.D., whereas Newark is still huffing glue in her parent's basement. Paterson works at a the nicest pawn shop in town, whereas Newark can't get out of bed without some crystal meth and a Forty. Paterson got knocked up at 16 and brings her children to work with her, whereas Newark got knocked up at 15 and sold her baby for an air mattress and some chicken-wire fencing. Have I painted enough of a picture for you? Do you see my point?

That said, I do feel just horrible for the people whose lives were quite uprooted by Lil' Miss Irene. She knocked out power for weeks in some areas, flooded other areas to a point where the only real form of transportation was a canoe. Up here in these parts, not many people keep canoes "stocked up" in their emergency kits. I believe most of my friends' (and by "friends" i mean "me and my husband, too") emergency kits were made up of wine. Wine and beer. Wine and beer and maybe a candle just in case. We also made sure we had snack foods, as a certain mistress does NOT like going too long without Basic Four Cereal, Chobani Greek Yogurt, and fresh blueberries. What? The heart wants what it wants. Oh! And lest I forget, my heart also wanted cookies, kettle chips and the original "Arthur" featuring one hell of a drunk Dudley Moore.

So all that aside, this summer has been rather tumultuous. That said, we're off to a fresh start, as today kicks off the beginning of Fashion Week! Ahhh, Spring/Summer 2012, we can't wait to pick out things we love but cannot have because the entire universe is so poor! I will not be reporting from the front lines as I'm currently suffering from a major respiratory infection and I sound like Harvey Fierstein if Harvey Fierstein sounded more like a dude. Also, Mother Nature clearly has something against the fashion industry as she has not made fashion week easy, weather-wise. It hasn't stopped raining for three days straight, and even Paterson, New Jersey is considering quitting her job at the pawn shop to go huff glue with her sister, Newark, in her parent's basement. It's so grody. Milly, my faithful internapoo, has taken to her bed, not because she is ill, but because she doesn't like, umm, "relieving" herself on the damp, dank lawns of our neighbor's beautiful homes (Hi, Neighbors! We're the ones with the dog that looks like a little, tiny lamb who poops in your gardens!). So I don't even have someone to fetch my coffee. I mean, even Gaga is taking a break with all this nasty weather, as she is facially NEKKED, wearing not one droplet of makeup! Even her cheek-corner-pointy-thingies have disappeared!

All Lady Gaga Photos Courtesy of Harper's Bazaar. Why, thank you, Ms. Bazaar!

Well, hath the whole world turned upsidedown? Is this it for us? Did the old guy who swore we were all gonna kick it because of The Rapture actually have a point? No. He didn't. Things are just boring and strange and weird, so Lady Gaga went out and got some facial wipes and took off her rather heavily painted-on visage. And the rain? Well, better rain than the week of the Hurriquake*.

So I just wanted to check back in and let you know that Mistress is still here, coughing up what appears to be a lung that has gotten caught in her windpipe, and that it is worth hanging around for, as there will be more posts to come. I promise. Don't forget, Beyonce is preggers, T.I. is out of jail, Jeezus Bieber hasn't gone anywhere (you can't fool us with those glasses, silly goose!), and he's still playing paddycake (and by paddycake I of course mean, "squeeze-selena-gomez's-ass-in-public-at-least-12-times-a-day"-cake) with Selena Gomez**, Kim Kardashian got married to a manchild who goes by her own mother's name (Ha! Kris Kardashian-Jenner-Maybe-Kardashian-Again must be having a ball knowing that as her second grandchild is being created, her second child is screaming out "Kris! Kris! Kris!" over and over again. OMG, EWW. That sentence makes me want to shower and exfoliate until I reach my mind's eye so I can scrub it right out...), Night Ranger putzed up their one and only hit by giving it to Old Navy, purveyor of the most annoying commercials probably EVER, and opening our eyes to the fact that their "price for flight" is rather low, and lastly but certainly not least-ly, the new season of Glee starts in two weeks.

As I said, hang onto your umbrellas-ellas-ellas as Mistress is on her way back, guns blazing. A round of applause can start.....now. OH! And I haven't even touched upon the biggest thorn in my side, Monsieur Galliano. Au revoir, you Hitler-loving bag of soiled baby monkey diapers! Et Bonjour, Monsieur...Marc Jacobs? Voila! Well-done, LVMH. Now I need not ban a whole bunch of stuff that I probably would have bought anyhow because it's just so dang purty.

*I totally thought that "Hurriquake" would take flight and that all the local news teams (who, by the by, interrupted WAY too much of my regularly scheduled programming to bring me Mayor Bloomberg, the only person ever to speak Spanish with a New York accent, poo-ah favooh-ah...) would use it, but alas, they were just boring and didn't make up any fun names for anything. I suppose there's still time.

**I still have no idea who the hell Selena Gomez is. NO freakin' clue.

Oh! Just Cinch It!

2011-03-24T11:26:00.000-04:00

Sizzle Jizzle Pizzle wearing something inspired by Stevie Nicks, and, I'm assuming it's Halston Heritage because you and I both know you're the best thing that ever happened to that dying horse.

Dear Sizzle J. Pizzle,

Lord knows I adore you. No one who knows me, well or otherwise, doesn't know that you're my numero uno. I just think we'd make great friends because in my eyes, you're the type of person who can do absolutely no wrong. And you did no wrong here, but I just need to ask you for one little favor. GIVE ME YOUR BELT RIGHT NOW AND NO ONE WILL GET HARMED. Oh! Forgive me! That sounded more like a demand than a "favor". But since we're such great buds, you wouldn't mind HANDING IT OVER IMMEDIATELY BEFORE I JUMP YOU FOR IT, would you? Ha! Silly me! That's not how a friend behaves! Let me try this once more in a kinder, clearer manner. I WANT YOUR F'ING BELT, CARRIE. YOU HAVE ENOUGH BELTS TO CHOKE ALL THE COWS IN THE MIDWEST. GET OVER IT AND JUST FED EX IT TO ME. Well I'll be a monkey's uncle! That did not sound nearly as kind or calm as I assumed it would! Perhaps that's the difference between reading something and talking to someone via phone. You should call me. We'll talk about the kids, how you get your hair so shiny, and what you're up to next week so we can make plans.

You are an absolute doll, Ladylove! Be in touch. Or pay the consequences. Ha! There I go again! My bark is bigger than my bite. Pay it no mind. Save for the whole belt thing. I want it and I want it bad.

Smooches to Ferris!

Mistress

P.S.--Whilst you're at it, throw in the shoes. They're the perfect black satin pump! I really need a pair. I don't see any red soles, so I'm assuming they're Brian Atwood. Manolo wouldn't do a platform. Anyhow, I hear that the postal service has one-price shipping. If it fits, it ships! So gosh darn it, SJP! GET YOUR BONY POSTERIOR TO THE POST OFFICE AND SHIP IT ALL TO ME. All the love in the universe, Mistress xoxo