Sunday Stylin': Yes, we still care

In this week's desperately pathetic attempt to fill space and pump up that advertising revenue, The New York Times gives us an article about two ladies who buy Mercedes, informs us that skateboarding is the new Little League and shows us the importance of image consultants.

Dogtown, U.S.A. The Stylin' Section's obsession with "Lords of Dogtown continues. But now they're trying to tell us that skateboarding is becoming mainstream, consulting like experts and shit and citing moms who skate with their kids. (Punk rock, bro!) Wow, what news. I would have thought that appearing in a movie with hit Huey Lewis and the News songs might have represented a loss of some indie cred, but what the fuck do I know? Anyway, I think we can file this one under the rubric "Makin' Stupid Shit Sound Important" and just move on.

Actually, check this out before we do:

The decreased dedication to the sport may also be a function of age. Rock 'n' roll's edges have been blunted over the years, as stars like Mick Jagger sober up and wrinkle. Skateboarding seems to be experiencing a similar shift toward maturity and self-preservation.

Mr. Alva, a curly haired, hard-charging ruffian in the 1970's, says he still skates and surfs nearly every day at 47, but admits he can't party or skate as hard as he used to.

"You have to start thinking about your health," he said by telephone from his store in Oceanside, Calif. "We have the same attitude, but we make wiser decisions."

Note to hard-charging ruffians everywhere: Getting interviewed for the Stylin' Section does not count as a wise decision.

What Women Want: More Horses. So check it: Women are buying cars now, but this isn't about station wagons and minivans. Some women are even buying cars just for themselves! Like, actual Mercedes and sports cars and stuff like that. And they're not looking for a faster way to run errands and get home to put dinner on. No! They want cars that are fun.

Psychologists have been re-examining how women navigate those bountiful, if challenging years differently from their mothers, and more important, from men. In the recent book "The Breaking Point: How Female Midlife Crisis Is Transforming Today's Women," Sue Shellenbarger argues that for many women the midlife transition is less a crisis than an awakening, a chance to heed a long-suppressed inner voice. Some may experience an attack of entrepreneurialism, others may backpack through Honduran rainforests.

And some buy F-150s! The Stylin' Section, of course, writes about the people who buy shit in their mid-life "awakening." But again, not without getting all important about it. Or better yet, condescending.

Women of the baby boom generation have made no small effort to seize the freedoms once reserved for men, so it is not surprising that as this vast group graduates from the soccer-mom years, many are doing what men have traditionally done at midlife: buying a sexy and indulgent car meant more to trumpet their liberty than to haul kids around.

So the gist of this is that women, too, can buy expensive shit for themselves when they're feeling down. Huzzah! Now they're just as dumb as men. Well, some of them. Anyway, I'm just impressed that they made it through this article without a joke about shopping for Manolos.

Back in the Bookstore: 50's Vintage Heavy Breathing. Man, the Stylin' Section just can't get enough of stuff that dumps on women, can it? This is, ostensibly, an article about the roots of chick lit. Specifically, "The Best of Everything," a 1958 best seller by Rona Jaffe. It seems to me as if this article shows a bit too much nostalgia for some of the conflict-producing forces in the book itself. But what do I know? I'm too interested in the snippet from the book itself, in which one of the characters was described as a "booze-sodden, much older man."

He was standing with his back to the window, silhouetted against the dimness, and her heart was beating so violently she could scarcely see him.

"Do you have a suntan yet, darling?" he said in a pleasant, conversational tone.

She nodded.

"Show me your suntan."

As someone who is likely to be a booze-sodden, much older man in the near future, I totally need to write that down.

Living by the Rules. This is part of why we take such umbrage with the Stylin' Section. It celebrates nightspots like this.

Go read that and try to believe it's a review of a place to go have dinner. What are the attractions? Well, "the brick patio was packed with mostly dewy parties of four or more. It felt like Dan Tana's for the junior set: men who are too young to look anything but ridiculous smoking a cigar and women who haven't been divorced more than once."

And it's next door to a bar where you can wait in line before a velvet rope after dinner! The review ends with a Paris Hilton reference, which is awesome, because how often do you see those?

The ultimate insult: The place in question has the same name as one of my favorite college bars ever. Ooooooh. Now I'm madder than a cockblocked Yosemite Sam.