Right down the street!

Yours, my and everyone else's favorite fashion photog, Scott Schuman, will soon show his super successful 'Sartorialist' exhibit two blocks from where I'm currently sitting (!) at the Adamson Galleries, located at 1515 14th St., NW.

According to his own announcement, a selection of street-style prints will be on display in the Logan Circle space from 15 March through 26 April.

I'll keep you posted on any further developments...

Right down the street!

Yours, my and everyone else's favorite fashion photog, Scott Schuman, will soon show his super successful 'Sartorialist' exhibit two blocks from where I'm currently sitting (!) at the Adamson Galleries, located at 1515 14th St., NW.

According to his own announcement, a selection of street-style prints will be on display in the Logan Circle space from 15 March through 26 April.

I'll keep you posted on any further developments...

Eye candy of the week

She may drink her own breast milk and be the kind to leave a Post-It in her friend's apartment reminding her to recycle, but with her asymmetrically shaved pixie and super lean runway frame, 24 year old Claire from NYC was the easy choice to be my prized pony for this, the tenth (!) installment of "America's Next Top Model."

Here, a video introduction:

It's so true what they say about typecasting. Luke Perry and Jennie Garth have grown up, gotten married, raised children, ridden bulls and danced the cha-cha-cha, but try as I may, these two together, even at some random event called "Chevy Rocks!", will always make me think first and foremost of Kelly's face after Brenda skewered her (in front of Dylan!) with the classic, "I was always taught that if it looks like a duck and walks like a duck…"

HRL, take note, Rihanna at last night's Brit Awards is your eye makeup blueprint for my "Jumpsuit Mandatory" birthday celebration. Tick tock, woman, get to practicing!

After enduring four straight days of not being able to avoid Lindsay Lohan's painfully unsexy attempt at recreating Marilyn's "Last Sitting" (not to mention her mother's insufferable interviews pertaining thereto), I've come up with an idea.

How about we take this young curvy thing here...
And make some Jayne Mansfield magic?
My favorite photo of Scott's this week captured all that I love about a well-dressed man: fitted, formal, polished and neat. The yellow accent of eccentricity, the silvery tousle and the Gucci boutique backdrop certainly don't hurt, either...

After I figure out the genesis behind Tommaso Aquilano and Roberto Rimondi's decision to anoint themselves "6267," I'm going to place at the tippy top of my wishlist their breathtaking take on the perfect formal showpiece coat.Or at least let it share top billing with this front-draped, skinny-cinched Bottega Veneta sheath...
...and this tiered one-sleeve Marni blouse peeking out from under this structured coat, which, if there's room, I might slide somewhere else in my top 10.
I know presidential politics are and should be rooted in substance, but let's suspend reason for a second and imagine how cool it would be if our First Family looked like this instead of this?

My ticket on the Megan Fox Express has long since expired -she's just too one-dimensional is what it comes down to- but holy wow, that's one hard to miss rib tatt she's got there. I don't really care what it says (if you do, click here), I'm just in awe of a woman with that little protective fat who chose the most painful part of the body on which to have a needle create not just a small fairy or the Chinese character for "serenity" but something of the that-must've-taken-a-good-45-minutes variety. Color me impressed, MegFo.

Eye candy of the week

She may drink her own breast milk and be the kind to leave a Post-It in her friend's apartment reminding her to recycle, but with her asymmetrically shaved pixie and super lean runway frame, 24 year old Claire from NYC was the easy choice to be my prized pony for this, the tenth (!) installment of "America's Next Top Model."

Here, a video introduction:

It's so true what they say about typecasting. Luke Perry and Jennie Garth have grown up, gotten married, raised children, ridden bulls and danced the cha-cha-cha, but try as I may, these two together, even at some random event called "Chevy Rocks!", will always make me think first and foremost of Kelly's face after Brenda skewered her (in front of Dylan!) with the classic, "I was always taught that if it looks like a duck and walks like a duck…"

HRL, take note, Rihanna at last night's Brit Awards is your eye makeup blueprint for my "Jumpsuit Mandatory" birthday celebration. Tick tock, woman, get to practicing!

After enduring four straight days of not being able to avoid Lindsay Lohan's painfully unsexy attempt at recreating Marilyn's "Last Sitting" (not to mention her mother's insufferable interviews pertaining thereto), I've come up with an idea.

How about we take this young curvy thing here...
And make some Jayne Mansfield magic?
My favorite photo of Scott's this week captured all that I love about a well-dressed man: fitted, formal, polished and neat. The yellow accent of eccentricity, the silvery tousle and the Gucci boutique backdrop certainly don't hurt, either...

After I figure out the genesis behind Tommaso Aquilano and Roberto Rimondi's decision to anoint themselves "6267," I'm going to place at the tippy top of my wishlist their breathtaking take on the perfect formal showpiece coat.Or at least let it share top billing with this front-draped, skinny-cinched Bottega Veneta sheath...
...and this tiered one-sleeve Marni blouse peeking out from under this structured coat, which, if there's room, I might slide somewhere else in my top 10.
I know presidential politics are and should be rooted in substance, but let's suspend reason for a second and imagine how cool it would be if our First Family looked like this instead of this?

My ticket on the Megan Fox Express has long since expired -she's just too one-dimensional is what it comes down to- but holy wow, that's one hard to miss rib tatt she's got there. I don't really care what it says (if you do, click here), I'm just in awe of a woman with that little protective fat who chose the most painful part of the body on which to have a needle create not just a small fairy or the Chinese character for "serenity" but something of the that-must've-taken-a-good-45-minutes variety. Color me impressed, MegFo.

Italians and Brits claim DC women's abs weak, sex lives wanting

Well, sort of.

According to an international medical expert (i.e., some urologist at the University of Verona), women who regularly wear heels at least two inches tall register significantly stronger pelvic muscles than women with the same level of daily exercise whose feet don't enjoy eight or more hours at a 15-degree (the equivalent of a two inch heel) or higher incline.

And anyone who's read a Cosmopolitan in the past decade knows good and well that a set of strong pelvic muscles is the Kegel key to unlocking that perfect, magical, lasts-all-night 'O' face.

Okay, maybe that's for the most part adolescent legend, but how about this...Harper's Bazaar UK recently polled a group of men of varying ages, races, education levels and socioeconomic backgrounds the question, "Which type of footwear makes you most want to have sex with a woman?"

Their "overwhelming" choice, according to the fashion mag, was none other than the stiletto.

Or more commonly known in these here parts as the shoe no woman wears on a weekday. For serious, on my five-block walk home yesterday evening, a walk during which I took my sweet, it's-60-degrees-outside time, I spotted nary a pair of stilettos, nor even a stacked, kitten, wedged or block heel exceeding the necessary two inches to earn a woman her wings for down there flexosity.

(shaking head)

My take on this "exciting new research" -the emphatic provided by designer Manolo Blahnik- is that even if the Italian urologist's new physiological findings turn out to be less than scientifically sound and high heels aren't in fact a reliable catalyst for better sex, why not prop ourselves up anyway to at least increase our chances of having more sex?

Of course, I'm bypassing the step that has the stiletto-wearing woman giving into the man who propositions her -and her lengthened legs- for sex, but hey, I'm single and spend my entire Tuesday counting down the hours until I can simultaneously write and watch "The Biggest Loser: Couples" with my dog -- just let me assume that's how it works.

In sum:

Stilettos --> hot legs --> aroused men --> empowered women --> sex --> good moods --> productive at work --> salary increase --> really nice stilettos --> even hotter legs --> more aroused men (and so on and so forth...)

Buy her shoes for Valentine's day, gentlemen, and you both win.

*kudos to Adam (and six other readers!) for alerting me to this article
**photo taken from The Sartorialist

Italians and Brits claim DC women's abs weak, sex lives wanting

Well, sort of.

According to an international medical expert (i.e., some urologist at the University of Verona), women who regularly wear heels at least two inches tall register significantly stronger pelvic muscles than women with the same level of daily exercise whose feet don't enjoy eight or more hours at a 15-degree (the equivalent of a two inch heel) or higher incline.

And anyone who's read a Cosmopolitan in the past decade knows good and well that a set of strong pelvic muscles is the Kegel key to unlocking that perfect, magical, lasts-all-night 'O' face.

Okay, maybe that's for the most part adolescent legend, but how about this...Harper's Bazaar UK recently polled a group of men of varying ages, races, education levels and socioeconomic backgrounds the question, "Which type of footwear makes you most want to have sex with a woman?"

Their "overwhelming" choice, according to the fashion mag, was none other than the stiletto.

Or more commonly known in these here parts as the shoe no woman wears on a weekday. For serious, on my five-block walk home yesterday evening, a walk during which I took my sweet, it's-60-degrees-outside time, I spotted nary a pair of stilettos, nor even a stacked, kitten, wedged or block heel exceeding the necessary two inches to earn a woman her wings for down there flexosity.

(shaking head)

My take on this "exciting new research" -the emphatic provided by designer Manolo Blahnik- is that even if the Italian urologist's new physiological findings turn out to be less than scientifically sound and high heels aren't in fact a reliable catalyst for better sex, why not prop ourselves up anyway to at least increase our chances of having more sex?

Of course, I'm bypassing the step that has the stiletto-wearing woman giving into the man who propositions her -and her lengthened legs- for sex, but hey, I'm single and spend my entire Tuesday counting down the hours until I can simultaneously write and watch "The Biggest Loser: Couples" with my dog -- just let me assume that's how it works.

In sum:

Stilettos --> hot legs --> aroused men --> empowered women --> sex --> good moods --> productive at work --> salary increase --> really nice stilettos --> even hotter legs --> more aroused men (and so on and so forth...)

Buy her shoes for Valentine's day, gentlemen, and you both win.

*kudos to Adam (and six other readers!) for alerting me to this article
**photo taken from The Sartorialist

That for which I'm most thankful this Thanksgiving

My ultimate wishlist item - this McQueen funnel-neck mini - is still available in my size. Even when I'm frantically busy, I always remember to visit her at least twice a day at her home on Net-a-Porter.

Never have I found a pair of shoes to which I'm so attached I don't mind wearing them five days in a row. They're tall, they're ladylike, they're complementary to everything in my wardrobe and best of all, they're affordable enough so that I could buy not one but *two* preemptive replacement pairs.

The Mr. Bigs of this world may cause us an inordinate amount of heartache, but ultimately, when you bump into yours on a random Saturday evening in the parking garage just outside Neiman Marcus and it's all still very much there for both of you - palpably so - you know he was worth all 377 plays of "Tears Dry on Their Own."Katie Holmes.

This photo from The Sartorialist. It was she who inspired me to chop mine off.

The Midwest. My besties. While their hair hues may match the SatC girls' to a perfect 'T,' believe me when I say their three-dimensional personalities are loads more compelling. We may only regularly see each other Monday nights in BridalBird's nest, but more often than not, they and their sent-via-e-mail caustic wit are the best part of my every day. C, K, L and L FTW!!111!!1
Doggies...especially that little breakfast burrito in the lower right hand corner.
At the risk of sounding like a bad Academy Award acceptance speech, I'm most thankful this year for all of those who have supported this blog, which just a year ago was barely a zygote of an idea in my long-haired head. Without your supportive readership, I'd probably still be getting eight hours of sleep and maintaining healthy relationships with my friends, family, Monte and maybe even a nice 63 year old, flag-lapel-pin-wearing Republican. And for that, I thank you.

That for which I'm most thankful this Thanksgiving

My ultimate wishlist item - this McQueen funnel-neck mini - is still available in my size. Even when I'm frantically busy, I always remember to visit her at least twice a day at her home on Net-a-Porter.

Never have I found a pair of shoes to which I'm so attached I don't mind wearing them five days in a row. They're tall, they're ladylike, they're complementary to everything in my wardrobe and best of all, they're affordable enough so that I could buy not one but *two* preemptive replacement pairs.

The Mr. Bigs of this world may cause us an inordinate amount of heartache, but ultimately, when you bump into yours on a random Saturday evening in the parking garage just outside Neiman Marcus and it's all still very much there for both of you - palpably so - you know he was worth all 377 plays of "Tears Dry on Their Own."Katie Holmes.

This photo from The Sartorialist. It was she who inspired me to chop mine off.

The Midwest. My besties. While their hair hues may match the SatC girls' to a perfect 'T,' believe me when I say their three-dimensional personalities are loads more compelling. We may only regularly see each other Monday nights in BridalBird's nest, but more often than not, they and their sent-via-e-mail caustic wit are the best part of my every day. C, K, L and L FTW!!111!!1
Doggies...especially that little breakfast burrito in the lower right hand corner.
At the risk of sounding like a bad Academy Award acceptance speech, I'm most thankful this year for all of those who have supported this blog, which just a year ago was barely a zygote of an idea in my long-haired head. Without your supportive readership, I'd probably still be getting eight hours of sleep and maintaining healthy relationships with my friends, family, Monte and maybe even a nice 63 year old, flag-lapel-pin-wearing Republican. And for that, I thank you.

My kind of lullaby

Since I imposed my no-posting-on-the-weekends rule, I have held as steadfastly to it as I possibly could, breaking my word not more than once, maybe twice in the past few months.

But some days, especially those when I'm feeling a bit under the weather, housebound, and wistful for the feel it, write it, post it Saturdays of yore, I can't help but go against what was supposed to have been an iron-clad declaration of reclaiming a bit of non-blog life for the pup and myself and share with you something that has me absolutely mesmerized.

Whether you take an Andie, a Miranda or in fact, no approach to high-end fashion, you'll find it impossible to deny how deeply lulling the thoughtful analytic texture of Cathy Horyn's Paris Fashion Week review comes across in audio form.

Her effortless pronunciation of "Nicolas Ghesquière," the almost maternal tone with which she anoints Lanvin's Alber Elbaz "the [Yves] Saint Laurent of today," her clear-as-day passion for the inspirations and iterations that have led up to and will follow, respectively, that which she sees sashaying down the runways -- all of these reasons, not to mention the collage of pretty photos that accompany her two, two-minute documentary-like streams, have had the pup and me listening to Ms. Horyn's Parisian musings every day, often more than once a day, since last Saturday.

And while we're on the couture kick, if you haven't already done so, be sure to check out The Sartorialist's snaps from outside the venues, especially this one (despite her flats) and the second one down from here -- my favorites.

As you were,
Johanna

My kind of lullaby

Since I imposed my no-posting-on-the-weekends rule, I have held as steadfastly to it as I possibly could, breaking my word not more than once, maybe twice in the past few months.

But some days, especially those when I'm feeling a bit under the weather, housebound, and wistful for the feel it, write it, post it Saturdays of yore, I can't help but go against what was supposed to have been an iron-clad declaration of reclaiming a bit of non-blog life for the pup and myself and share with you something that has me absolutely mesmerized.

Whether you take an Andie, a Miranda or in fact, no approach to high-end fashion, you'll find it impossible to deny how deeply lulling the thoughtful analytic texture of Cathy Horyn's Paris Fashion Week review comes across in audio form.

Her effortless pronunciation of "Nicolas Ghesquière," the almost maternal tone with which she anoints Lanvin's Alber Elbaz "the [Yves] Saint Laurent of today," her clear-as-day passion for the inspirations and iterations that have led up to and will follow, respectively, that which she sees sashaying down the runways -- all of these reasons, not to mention the collage of pretty photos that accompany her two, two-minute documentary-like streams, have had the pup and me listening to Ms. Horyn's Parisian musings every day, often more than once a day, since last Saturday.

And while we're on the couture kick, if you haven't already done so, be sure to check out The Sartorialist's snaps from outside the venues, especially this one (despite her flats) and the second one down from here -- my favorites.

As you were,
Johanna