Sunday, May 01, 2005

Sunday Stylin': the story behind "coochie couture"

In today's desperately pathetic attempt to fill space and gain advertising revenue, the Times discusses Paradise Hotel, the Met's embrace of corporate branding, and gets some really awesome letters.

Weren't You Famous? Sunday Styles sends a love letter straight to our heart, and makes fun of reality TV stars who try to capitalize on their fame but fail. There's a lot about my all-time favorite guilty pleasure, Paradise Hotel, a structureless program whose major premise was to drive beautiful, angry binge-drinkers into hysterical fits. ('s Heather Havrilesky renamed the show Drunken Asshole Hotel.) For those who appreciated the show, it makes sense that Tara is in love with a baby monkey and that Toni is hoping to be a commentator on Love Cruise re-runs.

The Times describes Toni as follows: "It feels good when I'm recognized, but it's not because I did something well," said Ms. Ferrari, who is now bartending to pay the bills.

Eric Nies from Real World got sucker-punched at an Iowa bar. This wounded his dignity.

The only disturbing thing in this article is that Rachel from The Inferno makes $240,000 to $360,000 a year in speaking fees. Pardon my subtlety, but anyone who gives a shit about the blabbering of that stupid, arrogant fucknut needs to be punched in the face. Apparently she and Veronica are opening a T-shirt business or something.
The designs (with phrases like "switch hitters" and "coochie couture") parlay their image - as the two girls who took part in a threesome during an episode in 2002 - into what they hope will be a successful business.

But for once, skank liability rests not with the Times, which appears to hate these people as much as I do. Sunday Styles, you coy little vixen, you. Just when I think I hate everything about you, tease me like this.

A Peek Into Coco's Closet : Sunday Styles has been flogging a Chanel exhibition at the Met, and it's time Cole Slaw Blog asked a question: The Metropolitan Museum of Art is putting on an exhibit about Chanel? And who is a sponsor? Chanel, you say? And are there a bunch of Chanel ads in the Times today? (There are.) Cole Slaw Blog is skeptical.

By which we mean, what the fuck? Why don't we just do an exhibit on the history of all sorts of luxury brands? Maybe the Met can just become the LVMH Museum of Shit You Covet. Next week: Hugo Boss.

But at least the exhibit is controversial. One of the curators, Harold Koda, acknowledges as much: "My fear is that all the people who are completely immersed in Chanel, and there a lot of women who wear only Chanel, are going to be mad," he said. "Because we don't have their Chanels in the exhibition. That's my nightmare."

Ours is slightly different and involves the Meatpacking District and a shrill I-banker named Stephanie, but suffice it to say, a cultural pillar shilling corporate brands is close enough.

The Drums of India Hip-Hop Toward a Hit : The anecdote at the start of this one tells it all: Suphala, a pretty lady who dedicated herself to an obscure Indian drum called the tabla, was basically ignored by fancy partygoers. Maybe they should have read this article about her to know she was up-and-coming.

A Tale Threads Through It. Parker Posey likes needlepoint. Mary Queen of Scots gets a shout out. Triviality abounds.

A Medley for Mother: Huzzah! Advertorial content! Shit to buy for your mom if she's part of the Sunday Stylin' crew. Included are "handcrafted macrame bracelets" ($159-$299), "insouciant aprons" ($55), and "fragrant Air Candelas by Molton Brown ... wrapped in buttery leather cocoons" $62. Seriously.

Making Sweet Music. There's some fucking lounge with a sugar cane theme. Owner says pretentious shit like, "We all like sugar in the coffee, alcohol in the drink and music on the mind." The reporter eavesdropped on four young ladies griping about their ex-boyfriends.

Mail Call: The Stylin' Section gets letters, and it turns out we're not the only people who hate the section. Victoria Neilson, legal director of Immigration Equality tears apart "Liza Monroy's flippant article about marrying her gay friend to assist him in getting his green card," pointing out that the couple in question committed a federal crime.

Even better is Leah Edmunds of Charlottesville, Va., who quite rightly trashes last week's article on Brooklyn, calling it "typical of the blinkered, trend-obsessed tone of the [Stylin'] section." She notes that "people who have never spent a moment worrying about whether it is sufficiently hip are being forced out of neighborhoods they consider to be home." Perhaps she's among them, considering her current location in the Old Dominion? Regardless, she's stuck this landing, and if we had Cole Slaw Blog promotional T-shirts or trucker hats to give away, we would give her one.

Miscellaneous Stylin'. Someone once had an alcoholic dad and it sucked (no snark here), a person who likes to buy shoes goes and buys some for cheap in a small French town that's kind of like an outlet mall.

Weddings/Celebrations: It will be Cole Slaw Blog policy not to mock the Times's wedding announcements. The announcements are symptomatic of people who've been corrupted by the Sunday Styles worldview. They are the victims. Instead of mocking them, we seek to offer hope, Coaster Pong, and a small glimpse at a better way of life.

*Ed. Note: this post was jointly composed by CrimeNotes and Flop.

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