diet dr pepper and marlboro lights

Y’all know that I have a troublesome yet passionate relationship with the NYer Style issue- as evidenced in my long contemplation of the DVF woman article from last year, and the way that the Prada profile changed my life! Last week’s spring Style ish did not disappoint! Or rather it did, in a resounding way. Profile of Lagerfeld: awesome.

(Picture of KL doing a spider dance in his crazy apartment: mindblowing!)

But then you have Dana Goodyear, the literary Sofia Coppola, hot off the heels of that bratty shit with the Poetry Foundation, profiling the guy from Decades, thus unwelcomely ripping open the world of high end vintage. “I found twenty trunks of Chanel in a musty attic! ha ha!” And then even though the innerworkings of Houston now make me sick, I always enjoy any magazine article that quotes, mentions, or alludes to Becca Cason Thrash, the only Houston socialite I’d give the time of day to- fucking hot at over 50 without looking like a space alien, quoted as saying “If I had to live in a trailer, it’d be the cutest, chicest trailer you ever saw!” Sure, she’s a Republican, but not nearly the unapologetic mastermind that Lynn Wyatt is, not to mention the fact that LW’s son was that guy they caught sucking Fergie’s toes that one time- how sick! But anyway, who cares? The Decades guy’s life sounds envious and awful at the same time.

Then there’s yet another Texas-joint in the issue, Patricia Marx’s tee-hee-Texas-is-so-gauche special edition of Critical Shopper. Who is this lady, and how do I get her job? Cause seriously, even though she hit the nail on the head with high end roadie cups (no explanatory link here, but let me say briefly that it’s not just a Texas rap thing- rich white people in Texas are for real obsessed with having trademark styrofoam cups, for either diet DP or for booze) hegemonic reviews of fashion are pointless, and it’s stupid to talk about how there are like, maaaybe 2,000 ladies in Dallas and Houston who can afford to shop at Neiman’s, and then not point out that the like 6 million who can’t manage to look almost as insane. My sister and I like to talk about the “Texas Bitch”, and that spirit transcends all race and class lines. She could have stopped at Sharpstown or Redbird Malls, EASY. Cause it’s also not like it’s only creepy blonde ladies shopping at Neiman’s. A large part of what makes the Houston Galleria so great it that it’s shopping disneyland for richy latin american nationals, duh.

All this the week that Ray Nasher dies. Did you know that I’ve been to the Nasher residence and ridden in Mrs. Nasher’s caddy? Freakish turn of events, and I still turned out this way.