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”The Harper's (Bazaar) Index: Hillary Clinton's "Sexless" Style, Julianne Moore, & Orgasm-Inducing Luggage
Do people get confused by Harper's Magazine and Harper's Bazaar? After all, the luxury goods industry is not so different from Halliburton — shameless, ubiquitous, and sooo fucking talented at charging more for less. So again, we're taking things to their (ill)logical end with our own "Harper's (Bazaar) Index", inspired by Harper's famous feature, which parses the world of big oil, big money, big politics and Big Pharma and puts it into easily-digested numerical form. After the jump, Anna and I look at the May issues of both magazines and juxtapose co-sponsored Senate bills among presidential candidates with their sense of style; compare the KKK to luxury design house Lanvin; and "discuss" federal subsidies for American airlines with respect to the chic summer vacations of Chloe Sevigny, Lake Bell and Isabella Rossellini's daughter Ellettra. More »LOLAudience: Paul Janka & John Fitzgerald Page On Dr. Phil
Yesterday, two notable specimens of boy-foe material, Paul Janka and John Fitzgerald Page, appeared on Dr. Phil to let talk about their big egos in front of a female-only audience. The audience reactions were so priceless — lots of disgust and appalled laughter — that today, one of you asked us to give the images the LOL treatment, an "offer" we couldn't refuse. The results, after the jump. More »Glamour's '50 Most Glamorous' Does Not Include Cover Model Jessica Simpson
Yes! The June Glamour is here, and, once again, it is full of useless features, like the reader-generated list of the "50 Most Glamorous Women." It's so refreshing to see a montage of the Patrick McMullan red carpet crossed-leg poses and pouts we've seen a million times before. Too bad that list excludes boobilicious cover model, Jessica Simpson, who just so happens to sit on the cover so unGlamourously. And why is it that the coverline about vagina normality rests so suspiciously close to Jessica's very own hoo-hah? Could this be a case of accidental art direction? After the jump, find out all the other really useful information inside the June Glamour, including some genius advice on how to make men worship you (hint: it involves breasts). More »This Week In Tabloids: The Spears Sisters Reunite & Someone Sells The Pix
Welcome back to Midweek Madness, in which we search for actual "news" in the celebrity weekly magazines. Another slow week in Hollywoodland means the covers are rehashed stories you've already heard. Again. Britney "wins" two covers because she went to her sister's baby shower and is thin. The other three covers feature Angelina Jolie, Aniston/Mayer and Montag/Conrad. Intern Sharon assists as we dig for a gold doubloon of gossip on the beachy shores of the weekly mags, after the jump. More »French (Photo Retouchers) Don't Let Famous Women Get Fat
Remember the horror of that almost-unrecognizable atrocity at left? Turns out we can blame Pascal Dangin for that. Dangin, you see, is what writer Lauren Collins, in this week's issue of the New Yorker, calls "the premier retoucher of fashion photographs", a onetime hairdresser who so believes in reincarnation (symbolic, not metaphysical) that, when he moved from France to the U.S in 1989, he chose the first very flight out of Charles de Gaulle airport on the very first day of the new year.
Many women are transformed by Dangin's computer stylus, which sits in a basement laboratory at "Box", his four-story, Manhattan Photoshop fortress: In addition to Drew, there is the trophy wife with the "flat" face and "short" legs; the shoulder blade found "in a recent project at W"; the cast of the Sopranos; Prada models; "a famous actress in her late twenties"; a "crunchy"-faced model; "another well known actress"; "an actress with a movie coming out this spring"; Kate Moss; models Liya Kebede and Raquel Zimmerman; Madonna. And then there is model Christy Turlington, who, Collins explains, "needs the least help".
More »Scorned "YouTube Wife" Takes Her Brand Of Crazy To The Insider
Tricia Walsh-Smith — the estranged wife of rich guy theater mogul Philip Smith, who has been posting highly entertaining video rants on YouTube about their breakup — has taken her fight to The Insider. She is auctioning off her wedding dress on eBay in order to cover a $5,000 donation that she made to a charity for "boys who have lost limbs and that in Iraq", a donation she can't afford to pay. She hopes that she makes "loads and loads" of money on the deal. The best news, though, is that she's rumored to be joining the cast of the next season of Bravo's reality show Real Housewives of New York City!Tricia Walsh-Smith to Move to 'Real Housewives'? [NY Mag]
The National Magazine Awards: 3 Hours Better Spent Reading Magazines
Cindi Leive, the editor-in-chief of Glamour and president of the American Society of Magazine Editors, is very attractive. She is very well-liked. She is, by all accounts — and I have more accounts of Leive's bedside manner than I ever asked for — a terribly nice, and intelligent, person. But Glamour is a essentially dumb and frivolous magazine and that fact, coupled with its nomination in the largest-circulation General Excellence category, probably inspired me to pay particular attention to her speech at last night's generally boring National Magazine Awards. And Cindi obliged my cynicism, opening the ceremony with comment to the effect of thanking all the ASME judges for all the many thousands of hours they put in reading magazines. "Thousands of hours of work," was, I believe, the phrase she used, followed by something to the effect of said "work" being performed, voluntarily, by very high-placed and important editors.
More »From The Mixed-Up Files Of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler: City of Angels
Welcome to 'Fine Lines', the Friday feature in which we give a sentimental, sometimes-critical, far more wrinkled look at the children's and YA books we loved in our youth. This week, writer / reviewer / blogger Lizzie Skurnick rereads 'From The Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler', E.L. Konigsburg's 1967 novel about extremely unaccompanied minors run amok at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Claudia knew that she could never pull off the old-fashioned kind of running away. That is, running away in the heat of anger with a knapsack on her back.
I miss New York. Not the New York somewhere over to my left. A New York before The Squid & The Whale brought divorce to the Museum of Natural History. A New York before nannies got groped; a New York before private-school girls intertwangled lustily on beds in some benighted plan to rule the school. It was a New York that had room for a notepad-toting minor to spy unaccompanied on people through dumbwaiters; a boy to wander Chinatown having adventures with a cricket; teenagers to contend with a genie in a mystery at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine. Not a world where children playact adult dramas, or unhappily contend with the chaos adults leave in their wake. It's a New York that keeps adults perpetually at shoulder-level, briefcases and purses jostling, while the children, front-and-center in the frame, get up to whatever children get up to.







