Some absolutely frivolous news to take your mind off of he-who-shall-not-be-named, not in this blog at least!

A few weeks ago, I was waiting with my colleague and friend Joanna Rothkopf outside of an intimidating exercise class that we attend together sometimes. Across the room, past a cluster of upsettingly fit former sorority members, Joanna spotted something unusual—a price tag, still affixed to a woman’s spandex shirt. Oh…

The legendary Zsa Zsa Gabor died in 2016, and now a Beverley Hills auction house is dispersing her things into the wider world. Here is your precious chance to own her Saks Fifth Avenue charge card. Let’s shop the online listings together, shall we?

I left for Taiwan with one top-heavy rolling suitcase and a floppy duffel bag filled with a jean jacket and a pair of shoes I didn’t end up wearing. I returned ten days later with the aforementioned bags stuffed to the gills and a giant Doreamon tote bag that was so heavy I could not lift it comfortably by myself.

I’ve shopped very little this year, which helped me justify participating in a glut of passive consumerism for the entire month of November. I also spent half the month in the technicolor shopping meccas of Tokyo and Shanghai—two cities that are basically designed to encourage people to drop money.

So my fellow Jez staffers figured out my dark secret: I buy a lot of shit. Shit I probably shouldn’t buy, but do anyway. The past couple of weeks have been particularly bad.

I spent money on things this month. But rest assured, they were things that will enrich my life because, as we know, money and material worth are maybe the only the keys to happiness.

Like the leaves falling dead from the trees, I’ve used the advent of fall both to die a little more on the inside and, more relevantly, shed some of my material possessions. This is not so much a Marie Kondo-esque attempt to simplify my life as much as a chance to get rid of all the garbage I’ve been hanging onto and…

In a development that I consider both a blessing and my probable undoing, Everlane is opening its first brick-and-mortar store. That’s right: all those slinky-soft tees and chunky sweaters and dapper street shoes will be within reach of your fingertips—if you live in San Francisco, that is.

Is your husband the kind of person who’s nervous about running into his bros while accompanying you to buy a refill of feather hair extensions at Claire’s? Does he hold up padded bras and do a stupid dance while at Victoria’s Secret as a little clown to distract from his half-chub? Is his favorite show King of Queens …

Colette, the über-cool Parisian concept shop where you could always pick up your favorite Margiela perfume and some weird overpriced Japanese toy, is closing after 20 years.

I hate shopping right now because I just don’t understand where people buy clothes. I’ve been trying (emphasis on trying) to wean myself off of fast fashion the past year or so because it’s icky and I was tired of trying deceptively cute things on only to find out how insanely poorly made they are (surprise!!!).

The death of the American mall, the great social cesspool of broke window-shopping teens and nostalgic first dates, has been dragging out for some time now. The latest estimate is that about one-fourth of the malls that exist in this country will be gone within five years.

I’m currently in the midst of a style crisis: I think I have a sense of style (and stylish people confirm that I do), but I constantly struggle to match what I’m looking for (like, say, a one-piece that doesn’t make me look like a chunky baby) with what’s available (a sea of one-pieces that make me look like a chunky…

April turned out to be a rather flush month for me. I received not one but two influxes of cash outside my normal paycheck and what did I do with that excess? I bought a bunch of shit. Not to get all “self-care in the age of Trump” on you, but in general, I find retail therapy to be an effective mechanism for me. I…

The name brand Bebe summons memories of unchaperoned high school shopping excursions. My mother was disinclined to clothe me in its bandage minidresses, or to invest in one of their famous shrunken black tees, with “bebe”—spelled out in cheap gems—twinkling across the chest. Thus, the best time to try on clothes at…

Reader Erica writes in with a pressing problem:

It’s that time of the year again where I’m getting a taste of the summer months to come. More specifically, this weekend it was 80 degrees in Los Angeles and I was reminded what it’s like to be hot as hell while simply trying to live my life. So I committed myself to immediately purchasing more dresses and rompers to…

An important debate arose in the Jezebel office concerning whether I should get these adult overalls or not.