The Rachel Zoe Project: It’s Fashion To The Maxi. Those Long Hemlines And Short Bangs Are A Lot Of Work.

March 15th, 2013



Bozhe Moi Tovarish. The calming powers of my secret stress-relieving Russian Spy hat have yet to take effect it seems.




OhMyGod. These bangs are confusing me. It’s literally like one day both of my eyebrows are right there…and then the next day I can’t find them anywhere.





OhMyGod. Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah So Tired Blah Blah Literally Blah Blah Blah Blah Puppy Blah Blah…





OhMyGod. Dude. That hair. I just can’t.






You know that’s BabySquawk for “OhMyGod. I need those heels” right?






OhMyGod. I literally close my eyes at night and can still hear that little Goy crying like he just got eliminated on Project Runway.





OhMyGod. Don’t look, SkySky. It’s too scary. Some of the crew are actually wearing Mall clothes.





Literally, if I hadn’t already died a little last week, I would totally be dying right now.

But if I remember the rules, I don’t think you are supposed to do it twice in a row unless you’re actually in the Biz.  If you are, then it’s ok to literally die a little every time you turn a corner and see a rack of shoes or a full Starbucks cup.

Because that’s how the fashionably fabulous do things.  But only if you’re in the Biz.

Being dramatically over the top is not for rookies.  Someone could get hurt.

The Rachel Zoe Project was back for another round, trying to come down from a Mercedes Benz Fashion Week high that could put any heroin addict to shame.

Shield your eyes.  Designer Detox ain’t pretty.

Now that the runway shows were done and all the superficial backstage air kissing completed (…love you, mean it…) Rachel and Rodger had returned home to regroup and get ready to push some goods down a few buyers’ throats.  As stressful as putting together a 2 minute show may be, getting that same merch on a Nordstrom rack is even tougher.

Sitting outside on one of those New York City terraces that I’ll never be able to afford, Rach And Rodg immediately tried to outdo each other as to who was the most exhausted after having to suffer through an entire week of sitting in chairs and watching other people walk down runways in fancy clothes.

Rachel claimed to have not slept for 4 weeks.  Which, if you do the math, is a month.

Besides being totz amazeballs, it also validated my assertion that she is either an alien life form or part giraffe, since aliens only snooze when they go into those smoky freeze dry chamber tubes and giraffes only sleep for 5 minutes at a time standing up.

It’s true.

The giraffe part at least.  Look it up.  Five minutes at a time, up to six times a day.

With one eye open.

The More You Know, kids.

Roger’s new coffee house hair had a few issues every time the breeze from the Hudson kicked up, but he managed to keep it out of his mouth long enough to convince Rachel to fire up the MacBook and read the online reviews.  Though she claimed to not be the least bit interested, her laptop was already drawing enough juice off the neighbors wi-fi to allow the InStyle website to load in record time.

Everyone seemed to love the show, if I understood Rachel’s interpretation of the English language.  She was only reading every other word out loud like you do when you have to skim Catcher in the Rye 30 minutes before the book report, so the whole thing came across a little like an onscreen communication from Starfleet during an asteroid shower.

But I think I got the gist of the thing.

After scrolling through a few more sites, Rachel was either giraffe-sleeping again or so happy that she was frozen in place as Rodger showed off his goosebumps and stated that now they just needed to sell some of the shizzle.

And that’s where Mandana Ba-nan-as came to save the day.  At least until Rachel showed up with little boy/girl SkySky, who appeared to be so overly hormonal this week that I was afraid he was going to need a Burberry inhaler.

While SkySky squealed and wandered the room, Rachel’s VP tried to maintain some semblance of order with all the pretty people from Nordstrom and continued her attempt at filling up some square footage in their Designer Departments.

The buyers appeared to like the new season better than they did the previous assortment, but there was still some nose scrunching when it came to the über long Maxi dresses.

They also questioned whether some of the loose fitting pajama dressing would be too difficult to get in and out of for a normal customer.

Really?  Since I somehow manage to wake up every morning with my Batman PJ bottoms completely MIA and a tee shirt wrapped around my face, I’m not really sure who these people are that have so much trouble dressing themselves.

But whatev.

By the time the next model came out in a pair of shorts and inspired some dude in the room to instantly perk up, lick his lips and say that leather was “something they were definitely into this season,” I realized that Mandana and I both needed to leave the building asap.  Taxi!!

On the other side of town, Rodger and Rachel dropped by yet another one of their new ventures: DreamDry.

Though the building was basically a gutted out shell with about 37 visible code violations, it was a work in progress.  When construction was completed, it promised to be the best new Blow Dry Bar in NYC.  Because God forbid that anyone in NYC blow dry their own hair before they go to a Macy’s One Day Sale.

And apparently there’s room for one more of these bad boys in the highly competitive world of round brushing, at least according to Rachel and her partner Robin Moraetes.

Unfortunately, work on the building was falling behind.  Way behind.  And in case anyone couldn’t look at missing sheetrock, dangling wires and non-existent illegal immigrant workers and not figure it out on their own, Rachel explained that the whole hot mess was the Opposite of Done.  Literally.

(Spoiler Alert:  DreamDry did actually finally get its act together by Valentine’s Day, which opens so many romantically inappropriate blow…out…jokes that I don’t even know where to start.  So we’ll just have to pass on this one for now.)

After brushing off the spackle from our Louboutins, we headed back to Rachel’s swanky new offices where, I’ll admit…I died a little again.

The places was Gorg.  Throw up in your mouth a little Gorg.

Seems that at some point during her 36 months of Super Pregnancy, Rachel’s company had put on some sympathy pounds and grown to 32 employees and 5 divisions.  And just like they say on a stranded Carnival Cruise…all that overflow has to go somewhere.

What?  Too soon?

So now all the Zoebots are in some pretty sweet digs.  And I was totally jealz.

Rachel’s newest Styling Associate Eileen came from a New York fashion background, presumably in the days when you had to blow dry your own hair to go to school, and she seemed really nice.  She was one of those calm on the outside/ready to leak some spaz on the inside types who maintained the best poker faces ever as little Goy SkySky continued his reign of terror around the building.

Rachel thinks that Eileen is Maj.  Not to be confused with Madge, for those of you who keep messing it up and clogging my email.

One is Major.  One is the manicurist from those old Palmolive commercials.  Google it.

And speaking of Skyler Morrison Berman, I didn’t actually see any DayCare signs anywhere on the floor, so I’m thinking that where ever the little Goy lands during a mini diva fit…Tag.  You’re It.  Babysitter.

When he momentarily went missing, Rachel took advantage of the silence and asked Mandana if she wanted to Download.

Because that’s how they talk in the Land of Zoe.  They don’t Catch Up or Talk About Stuff.  They Download.  Except that while Mandana was trying to download, Rachel was going into overload.  Dramatic overload.

But cut Rachel some slack.  Her bangs were confusing her.  Like, totally OMG…is my hair shrinking or is my head getting bigger?  That kind of confusion.

And quite ironic when you stop and realize that the woman who can’t figure out where her own bangs came from is now teaming up with the husband who looks like he just finished working a booth at ComicCon to open up their own hair place.

Stop the madness.  Just.  Stop.  It.

Those that can’t…do, I guess.

While we basked in that hilarity, Collection Manager Lauren met with some high profile boutique owners to try and sell some goods.  Just as their big buddy Nordstrom had done, they also questioned the practicality of the Maxi, which was Rachel’s baby.

The legitimately female baby, that is.  Not the other one that was rehearsing dramatic entrances from behind a chiffon office curtain.  Ta-daaaa!  It’s Celine!  In a diaper.

Nobody wanted to be the one who had to let Rachel know that most buyers were not feeling the Maxi Love this season, so they figured a group intervention would be easier, with Lauren leading the charge.  The Maxi was a risk.  People didn’t get it.  And…

Too late.  Rachel thought the whole thing was Fashion BS.  How could people not get it?

And more importantly, nobody wants a Mini that’s gonna flash your HeeHee while you’re playing with your SkySky.

(Wasn’t that was a song on The Wiggles PBS show last year?)

And where a weaker person might have turned to alcohol under such duress, Rachel turned to her magic stress-relieving fur hat.  Because she didn’t know what else to do.

When Rachel is freaking out, she tends to put on hats.  Fur ones.  And we all know that when you’re at a loss for words and about to lose your nutty on someone, it’s always best to just dress up like you’re Natasha from The Bullwinkle Show or Lisa Vanderpump at a ski lodge, right?  Must kill Moose and Squirrel…and Adrienne.

At some point in the all the chaos, Roger was back in his office chatting it up with the Other Rachel.  Rachel “SILBS,” whose main job at RZ Inc. appears to be nodding and smiling while Rodger rambles on and on.

And on.

Kind of like that girl at the bar who fakes it out with some Dbag until her friend comes back from that restroom.  That kind of blank nod and smile.

They talked about dogs and picture frames and a whole bunch of other stuff that eventually sounded like Charlie Brown’s teacher.  Muwwwaaah Muwwwaaah.

Lest you think that you wouldn’t get your stylist fix this week, Rachel was all over it with a Coach music video starring the duo group Karmin.

Prior to the shoot, Eileen had stripped a local store down to the bare walls and sent 99% of their on-hand inventory over to the studio in poorly marked UPS boxes.  So you knew before it even happened that something was going to go missing in the middle of Amy‘s Jingle Bell rap.

Naturally, Rachel brought Girl Scout Tagalong cookie SkySky to the shoot, and at least three of the camera guys contemplated stuffing the cry baby into one of the sweater boxes before singer Nick‘s missing brown one with the elbow patches finally showed up.

(Told you they’d lose something.)

Since Rachel was under additional stress to produce the perfect Winter Wonderland video before the actual holiday came and went, she immediately dove for another magic fur hat to calm her nerves.

And it worked.

The video was a big hit.  Done.

Karmin rocked the fashions and the tunes.  And Joey Maalouf was even there doing his makeup thang again.  He didn’t talk, but it looks like he’s finally back from burying Jeremiah‘s body behind the Crate & Barrel on Melrose.

Blast from the past!

Now it was time to wrap it up and hit the office to try and move some merch.  If only they could all get a handle on what customers really wanted this season.

OhMyGod.  I swear.

Retail…and new bangs…are literally beyond my comprehension sometimes.

I can’t breath.  Where’s my Bullwinkle hat?

The Real Housewives Of Atlanta: Girl, Don’t Be Tardy For The New Party. It’s Gone With The Wind Fabulous. Ok?

March 14th, 2013


Who am I?  Who are YOU?

Girl, pleez.  Fix yo’ face, tighten that weave, figure out how to do arismastik and put on your red bottoms…because we’re going dancing.

It’s time to get Gone With The Wind Fabulous, you Hood Rat Bitch.

The Real Housewives of Atlanta 2013 Anthem has arrived, and it is a veritable potpourri of Fierce and Fab and Freaky Deaky.

Who knew that one little patio throw down between Kenya Moore and Porsha Stewart would give birth to the next great auto-tuned dance tune?

Drag Queens, Gospel Singers, Toddlers, Beyoncé (…Keyoncé?…) and Lil’ Dick werkin’ his gas nozzle all collide in the just released Official Music Video.

And it’s a Kenyapalooza.

Step aside Kim Zolckiak and let Miss Kenya show you how it’s done.

Hold onto your synthetic wig as Key Key sings, poses and grinds her stuff all over the screen just like the true Diva she keeps saying she is…and still finds the time to poke a few of her fellow Housewives in the eye.

Oh, yeah.  She goes there, Phaedra.

Because she’s Gone With The Wind Fabulous.  And you’re not.


Trust me.

There’s enough Fabulousness in this video to keep you busy for a whole year.

All 265 days.

Dance Moms: Don’t Ask, Just Tell. It’s Time To Get Your Nails Did And Bust Out Some Camouflaged Maneuvers.

March 13th, 2013



OMG! No…YOU hang up first. Ok. On 3 we’ll both hang up. OMG you still didn’t hang up. You are such a stupid head.





That Chippendales boy doesn’t stand a chance. That’ll teach him to keep his nozzle in his own tank from now on.




No clue what the dance is about, Mom. All I know is that gay people would never leave the house without doing their hair first.





Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.






Don’t Ask. Don’t Tell. And please don’t ever do that in public again, sister.





Umm. Yeah. Probably could’ve lived without the Vertes Vajayjay. Gangnam Style doesn’t seem so bad now, does it ?











Be All You Can Be.

As long as it’s not Second Place, because that’s like the First Loser.

You can rest easy America.  This week our country just got a little safer.

And a whole lot crazier.

That’s right.  Dance Moms joined the Army.

The kinda sorta Gay Army.  But the Army nonetheless.  So you might want to put on your goggles and government-issued headgear because enemy fire never hit this close to home before.

After last week’s poor showing in Bernardsville, when the ALDC came home with nothing more than a bunch of 2nd Place certificates and a 5th Place slap in the face, Abby Lee Miller was getting ready to play military hardball as everyone scooted in for the Whatever Happened To Chloe? Pyramid of Shame.

Except she was doing it Ninja Style.

Calm and cool and collected.  So calm that it was freaking out the Moms.  Freaking them out to the point where I thought it was making Jill’s hair stand up on end until I realized that it was just her normally misbehaving ‘do.  I miss the Bump-It, honey.

Bottom row of the Pyramid was all Mackenzie, Nia and Paige.  MackaWhacka had come in with an 11 point difference between her score and someone else, so she got booted to the basement when Abby did the math on the front desk calculator.  Nia had been sick last week, which explained her high fever and Bird Flu-like double vision, but couldn’t justify any sloppy feet.  And Paige was on the bottom again because Abby still hated her Mom Kelly.  Even Abby seemed to know it was almost time to come up with some new excuses to poke Paige in the eye every week.

Second row was reserved for Maddie and Kendall.

Maddie dropped from three weeks on the top spot because of some bobble head move she made after 4 turns in her solo routine.  If that MIA squeak toy Sophia can do 519 turns without blacking out on stage, than the least Maddie could do for Abby was come out of her 4 without a face plant, right?  Abby was disappointed, to say the least.

Kendall was actually given some props for letting Mom Jill help her out so much last week (…covertly, or otherwise…) which jumpstarted Holly to an early lead in what could possibly be a new record for the most HollyFaces ever in one episode.

Granted, this one was a two hour Danceapalooza, but Dr. Holly was on fi-yah from the opening credits right through to the end when she was rockin’ some fiercely curled hair.

I see someone got her hair did for the competition, MmmHmm?  You go, girl.

We love that sassy faced Mom.  Two snaps and some Jazz Hands.

And at the top of the Pyramid was Brooke.  I know, right?

Shut up.  A smile would have been a nice touch.

There are two things that you never want to do when you’re in Pittsburgh.  One is stick your hand in the lion cage at the Pittsburgh Zoo.  The other is raise that same hand and ask Abby why you still aren’t on the freakin’ Pyramid after all these weeks.

But our girl Chloe is fearless.  She got nowhere, but she is fearless.  And at least she went off to rehearsal with all 10 fingers still attached.

The group routine was entitled Don’t Ask, Just Tell.

Like the military’s Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.  But tweaked a little, in support of the two remaining closeted gay boys on Broadway.


It was a little more involved than that, but you get the drift.  Abby wanted to make sure that with the help of the Moms, all the little dancers would learn early on that it is ok to just be who you are, and to love who you want to love, and to accept everyone, regardless of their own personal views or choices.

It’s called Equality, people.  Learn it.  It’s time.

It was an edgy statement piece on acceptance and understanding and gay rights and Rhythm Nation dancing in army camo.

Miss Jackson, if you’re Nasty.

And speaking of nasty.  Abby went on a date.

Turns out that last week on her way home from the Moms’ less than successful attempt at Speed Dating, Abby had pulled off the highway to get some cheap unleaded Exxon and a 64 ounce Slushie, and somehow ended up hooking up with a random stranger who offered to cap her gas hole.

Because you know Ms. Miller don’t pump her own octane with those acrylics.

Bitch, pleez.

Her Mystery Man dialed up the studio to finalize their date, and when Abby got the call on her cell she went completely 7th grade study hall on the dude.

Giggles.  More giggles.  Blushing.  Whispering so her Mom wouldn’t hear her in the closet with the phone cord stretched to the max across the bedroom.  OMG.  I’m pretty sure she even went back to the front desk  after he hung up and practiced writing her new married name on the back of a sparkly spiral notebook.

OMG.  He’s so dreamy.  Totz drmy.  TTFN.

Abby admitted that she needed a little Hubba Hubba.  It had been a long dry spell.  I don’t really remember what happened after that, because I hit my head on the floor when I slumped off the couch.

When I came to, Jill, Holly and Melissa were at the Nail Salon with Abby getting her all gussied up for Date Night.  You would have sworn they were taking their SUVs in for a fresh undercoat spray the way they were trying to polish up Abby’s chassis.

Remember the scene in the Wizard of Oz where everyone is buffing out the Tin Man and re-stuffing The Scarecrow?

Yeah.  Like that.

And then to seal the deal, Jill previewed the evening’s potential final score by unleashing a scissor legged Bump-It & Grind Pussycat Dolls kind of thing in the nail tech’s face and then flashed some of her MomStuff on my 50″ plasma.  I’m pretty sure I hit the other side of my head right about then.

This time when I came to, Abby and gas station attendant Louie were at dinner.

Louie was an odd cross between Wolverine, the Phantom of the Opera, a Bloomingdale’s perfume sample guy and that dude who dresses like a gladiator and throws beads off a Pride Parade float.  Don’t Ask.  Don’t Tell.

He took Abby to some gift shop-looking antiquey restaurant type of place that looked liked one of those stores that only sells potpourri and frames made out of marbles.  But it was a restaurant, I guess, because somebody brought some food over to the table.

Abby laughed.  A lot.  Nervous laughter.  With her mouth full.

Louie even fed her a Chocolate Eruption (…you can’t make this shizzle up…) off his own fork, proving that he clearly had never been to the Pittsburgh Zoo to read that sign next to the lion cage.

When asked if he had any dance background, Louie stated that he had done male stripping and was a proud 180 pounds of twisted steel and sex appeal.

Really?  Let’s just note that 52,310 tons of Titanic still went down when it hit that big iceberg and leave it at that, ok?

While Abby was recovering from a face full of Chocolate Eruption, the Moms all headed to the Bridal Boutique for Round #2 in the Melissa Wedding Dress Search.  Since it didn’t go so well the last time they all hit the racks, the Moms were determined to get Melissa into a dress and get this wedding party started.

And nothing guarantees a good time like liquor.

As Melissa tried on every gown in the joint, Moms Gone Wild passed around the champagne and caused general dress disarray.  Kelly almost pulled a Maddie face plant when she dove for a test-run bouquet and Holly dumped her cocktail in her lap.  So all in all, the day was a complete success.  Melissa even found a dress that made her cry.

Oh, those crazy Moms.

In case you had forgotten, the show also involves children who dance.  So it was back to the studio to check on Mackadoodle, who had been having some foot issues over the past few weeks.

Seems there was some controversy and dramz surrounding MackSnackAttack’s foot.

Word on the street was that she was too scared to do the elaborate hip hop Army dance, so she and Mom were making the injury seem worse than it really was to get her out of the routine and still save face.  Mom said No Way, José while the rest of the Moms begged to differ.

There was a lot of whispering going on back there.  So Melissa scooped her up and took her to the doctor and magically came up with a No Dance clause in her contract.  Things that make you go hmmmm.

On the final day before the In10sity Dance Competition in Minneapolis, Abby wanted to make certain that the Moms all knew how important the Army dance was when it came to understanding equality and their daughters’ acceptance of extreme Shangela fabulousness.

Laquifa What?  Secrets are just Lies.  Tell the World.  And then Werk.

Kelly even took it upon herself to have a pretty decent talk with Paige and Brooke while they thumbed through glittery hot pants in the costume shop.  (The irony of that scene was not lost on me, by the way.)  But it was a good talk that waaaay more parents should be having with their kids today.

Well played, Mrs. Hyland.  Well played.

Finally, it was Showtime!

In10sity still had those annoying on strobing onstage light grids.  Seriously.  Doesn’t anybody read this blog?  Stop.  It.

To prove an overly dramatic point, Abby brought in a wheelchair for MackJack to sit in while the rest of the girls got ready for their dances.  If your foot is really as bad as you say it is, then sit in the chair and don’t move.

So I guess the moral of the story is that it’s not cool to make fun of gay people, but it’s ok to pretend you’re paralyzed.  Abby must have still been digesting Louie’s Eruption when she came up with that one.

Maddie’s solo was flawless according to somebody.  I forget who.  And Abby had no time for Brooke, who had to get dressed and practice all by herself…sans Dance Teacher, as they say in France.

The mystery of MackFootGate continued as Brooke busted out her solo with no help from Abby.  She did great, but admitted to not doing Tony The Tiger Grrrrrreat!  Abby felt that Brooke should be stepping it up now that she is 14 years old.

Grow up.  You don’t need me to hold your hand anymore.

Then somebody blurted out that MackaYakka had somehow miraculously regained the use of both legs and had been doing somersaults in the back room.

A Shangela Halleloo!  She’s healed!

Uh Oh, Spagetti-O’s.

The group routine went off pretty well.  Not quite a tightly, well oiled military machine, but pretty good.  More like a bunch of young white girls trying to do hip hop in one-size-too-big army boots when they are all classically trained contemporary dancers.  That kind of hip hop.  They did a really cool coordinated flip thing that looked pretty slick from the audience though.  So there.

Back in the army green room, Abby needed to get to the bottom of the whole MackFootJack issue, and lined all the girls up like they were shipping off overseas.  One by one she picked them off the line to drop and do pushups until they finally cracked and all admitted that they had seen some somersaults going down behind enemy lines.


Then some kids won some stuff.  And again…it wasn’t the ALDC.

Clearly, something ain’t right in the Pittsburgh barracks.

Something that General Miller needs to fix ASAP.

Next week…we go to Dance War, soldiers.


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