There’s an enormous amount of self-confidence and determination to step in front of those beaming flashbulbs.  And while stiletto-stomping their stuff down the tunnel vision catwalk, rejection and scrutiny will inevitably follow.  But deathly heroin chic and fashion suicide is not the process in which one should go about achieving this almighty modeling ambition.  Models come in every shape and size, petites through plus.  Undoubtedly, it’s a fiercely tough industry.  Point blank.  And with today’s premeditated marketing techniques, the dire quest for ‘beauty in a bottle’ seems as galvanized as discovering the celestial Holy Grail or even the Hope diamond. 

At some point, we’ve all (unavoidably) been on this same exasperating mission since the coming of age.  There’s absolutely nothing wrong in that but, and that’s a pretty BIG but… though sadly, none of those phenomenal products is going to Harry Houdini you into someone else. 

Oh, the pursuits of vanity can be so tedious… but we (as part of this society) strive for pure excellence, nothing less is good enough.  Saturating our minds with a media-perfect infused world and the inaccessible expectations built for ourselves, shocks our egos into the oblivion of failures when we don’t achieve them.  Even my size four, is considered big!  It’s demoralizing and sometimes we forget that even they, the models, are trying to conform to an archetype created by Hollywood standards.  Seen at every newsstand, on the television, box office, bookstore, gas station, drug store, convenience market, and checkout lane… wraith forms glaring at you from the realms of glossy magazines.  For some, the only solution is to enlist the course of rivalry by imitation. 

Beautiful, tempting images slash across the pages, appearing unblemished in every way imaginable… though obviously, it’s not easy to live up to the limelight, even for them. 

It’s the moment when women are reaching for the jeans at the very back of the clothing rack… where the bigger sizes are hanging.  It’s as if they’re deliberately veiled from the rest, like some pariah of fashion civilization.  Why?  I mean, are women aliens to the rest of society if they aren’t a size zero?  It’s the constant reminder that high fashion designers and celebrity stylists prefer size a two or smaller, and thus, precedence is set.  Considering the average American woman is a (reported)size twelve… how can she possibly correlate the fine line between a healthy well-being and the standard of beauty?   

Today, even the beloved Marilyn Monroe would be a plus size actress.  That is, if she too, would not have succumbed to toothpickville.  

 Just look at the difference in these images… 

Karolina Kurkova fat?  Are you kidding me!  Omg, what’s so wrong with this beautiful woman’s body?  Nothing!

Startling facts…  Anna Carolina Reston died at age 21, from a diet regimen that consisted of apples and tomatoes.  Upon her demise, she weighed a mere 88 pounds. Luisel Ramos died at age 22, while participating in a fashion show, of anorexia-induced heart failure… it was reported that the youthful model had consumed only lettuce leaves and diet coke for three months prior to her death.  Upon her demise, she weighed a mere 98 pounds.

It’s a heartrending world , when these statistics don’t prevent further damage.

S. A. Harris

I couldn’t believe the reports, and with my insatiable desire to write… I felt compelled. Something had to be said about the audacious criticisms surrounding supermodel, Karolina Kurkova.       

  An Epidemic of Obsession… 

Shameful is the heavy criticisms for being physically sensual… though I have to wonder if we, the general public, idolize these self-induced expectations or if Tinseltown is responsible for the fabrication and intoxicating allure to a conglomerated pedestal of beauty ideals?  Nonetheless, it’s a distressing sort of media-obsessed, celebrity-driven world when the fabric of our society is compelled to insult women regarding the size of their waistlines, hips, and thighs.  Even worse, the designer label permanently embedded upon the self-deprecating world of vanity.  Strutting a bikini-clad bod down the catty runways of the Cia Maritima show during Sao Paulo Fashion Week, supermodel Karolina Kurkova, 24, had tongues wagging and critics sneering.  Known for her ultra sexy Victoria’s Secret ads and Angel’s Fashion Shows, the Brazilian media has put her in the line of fire for packing on the pounds. A claim of back fat and cellulite leaves me almost speechless!  Ruthless and sentient species, the daringly unforgiving fashion kingdom draws a silhouetted sketch of inaccessible expectations. It’s a tough industry.  Point blank.   But is glamorizing self-deprecation responsible for these frightening statistics?   

Designer Shades of Limelight 

Celebrity clothing lines come and go, but these days, they just keep coming.  With three costar-classmates following in each other’s footsteps, one wonders if MTV should think about revamping the name of their semi-scripted-reality television series, from The Hills to The Runways.  As aforementioned, Lauren Conrad’s Collection is tempting… though its upper west side pricing seems designed for the privileged, leaving little appeal to the average Middle American.   

Former Teen Vogue intern Whitney Port of The Hills, is launching Eve & A, a seemingly more affordable 17-piece collection of dresses, jackets, and tanks, which will be buoyed by her father’s line of apparel, Swarm.  Us Magazine reported price variants ranging $40-$250… though having investigated internet cyber waves, I’ve yet to find anything.  As for Lauren Conrad’s noticeable contender, Heidi Montag, is the third Hills star to join the fashion designer bandwagon of replica lifestyles, with her debut collection, Heidiwood for Anchor Blue.  With a blend of denims, signature zebra prints, mini skirts, dresses, shorts, and accessories, these sex-kitten styles are great for everyday wear and tear.  While Heidi Montag certainly has the price tag spot-on, it’s tepid chicness will test the flaming waters of It Girl’s newest crave… when celebutantes turn mini-moguls. Only time will tell if these reality starlets are capable of surviving the fierce competition.   

http://anchorblue.com/heidiwood/the_collection.php

 S. A. Harris

From Maverick to Mogul Starlet… 

Lauren Conrad, better known as LC, certainly has gone the sandy mile from the pristine shores of Laguna Beachto celebrity-infested Hills of Los Angeles, and she doesn’t appear to be slowing any time soon.  With gradual fame and fortune whilst transforming a feminine fashion maverick into debutante designer, her unveiling collection presents a fairly broad appeal to the masses of celebrity hopefuls.  The escalating recognition sprung within the drama-laden realms of reality television certainly has a way of illuminating a pitch-perfect pathway to success, though for some generations, this laid-back Southern California inspired clothing line may actually be a bit too loud for the general consumer.  Offering a diversity of chiffon, micro modal jersey, cotton, spandex, rayon, and Lycra… these flowing and sometimes gauzy fabrics, make a summertime statement with looks exemplifying the quintessential California girl in all of us.  Whether you choose to embellish your downtown style with club-ready stilettos or your favorite pair of beach flair flip-flops, The Lauren Conrad Collection is fun for bestie luncheons, sexy date nights, or even just hittin’ the beach.

Words to the wise… with high-end price variants ranging from sale items, such as the Leslie tank, $46.20 or Lo Dress, $90.97 and upward full-fledged pieces including,  Jilly Halter Top, $123.00, the ever-popular Whit ‘Butterfly’ Dress, $155.00 or Brooke Jumper, $180.00… it’s obvious not everyone will be able to afford this debut collection.  So, is this considered reasonable or a fashion faux pas to the general public?  You decide.  While many young women maintain an insatiable appetite for fashion, the unbreakable certainty is that the average consumer isn’t necessarily going to forfeit their allotted spending on a single item.  Ultimately, though of course depending on the circumstance of purchase… less is not always more.

But on the limelight horizon for LC, is a chic Fall Collection, and if you still crave more… bothWhitney Port (Eve & A) and Heidi Montag (Heidiwood for Anchor Blue) of The Hills have debut-clothing lines as well. 

More on that next time… 

http://laurenconrad.seenon.com 

Sara A. Harris  

100_6848.jpg  100_6866.jpg

Residents of Missouri undoubtedly grasp the turbulent affects of rising floodwaters as our very own Meramec River has reached daunting crests throughout the years.  While concerned communities remain powerless to the notion of critical disaster plans and levee expectancies… during these heartrending times of adversity, imminent misfortune, and the unpredictability of our nature environment…  Missourians launch a buoyancy of strength, mastering a commendable art of togetherness.      

During such moments, uncontrollably or perhaps unintentionally, you find a circle within the square of thought… and shed an air of humor to the mass of waterfall.   

An Interview with Mr. Dudge..

(A lighthearted tribute to the severity of cause… keep that in mind!) 

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, we’re broadcasting live from SSDD channel 13 with the latest in breaking news coverage…  I’m standing near the intersection of 141 & 44, where crest forecasts threaten the area, and roadways are virtually inaccessible.  Directly behind me, MoDOT continues the placement of concrete barriers and sandbags along eastbound lanes, in dire effort of maintaining the highway for as long as possible.  The Missouri State Highway Patrol strongly recommends motorists curtail travel, and plan accordingly until further work on interstate 44 is complete… but as you can see the congestion of traffic between Fenton and Valley Park has not dispersed, as floodwaters of the Meramec River approach near historic levels.

People from all walks of life surround the viewing area in an air of humility while trying to capture this remarkable moment in time, and with a new $49 million dollar levee, one can only pray this town will endure the heartache of this natural adversity. 

(Hello sir, what’s your name?)

“Well… round these parts, they call me Cornelius Dudge.”

(Mr. Dudge, tell me… have you been directly affected by the flood of 2008, and do you believe the levee will withstand the force of imminent rising waters?)

“I got me a boat, even though my wife said I was a dumbSh@*!  But I’m supposin’ the levee will hold… think all we can do is wait.”

(Sir, where is your wife today?)

“Whelp… we was boatin’ down the waterway, she started cursing a fierce word and telling me not to get her new shoes wet … so I did what I thought was best.”

(And what’s that Mr. Dudge?)

“Whelp…”  He says, scratching his temple.  His expression is nearly quizzical.  “I did as they do on TV, I suppose.  I got me some of that there plastic and wrapped her up real snug-like, then tied some sandbags around her waist… hoping it’d protect her like it does the highways… then left her big ass floatin’ in the water, cuz she ain’t wanted to be on the television with no wet shoes.”

You heard it here first ladies and gentlemen…  I’m Sedgwick Slipperies with SSDD news channel 13, reporting live coverage on the flood of 2008.  Back to you Tom…

S. A. Harris

Part Two… Your Yard Sale Follow-up!

(Revert to part 1 if necessary) 

With that said, here’s a surefire method to the catch & release of all that excess baggage.  In my experience, the rule of thumb to a fabulous yard sale is advertising!  Trust me… the promotion of your personal retail adventure is paramount to its success, and by the employment of free advertising sites, funky cardboard signs, and word of mouth… you’re on the fast track to a little extra cash.  Come ‘on, with the price of gas these days, green paper is always welcomed in my book.

Examples: 

MULTI-FAMILY SALE (or) NEIGHBORHOOD SALE  CLOSET CLEAN OUT SALE2323 FRISKY
KITTEN LANEJUNE 21^ST 7AM-3PM 

Use bright neon arrows for the navigationally challenged.  This is a sale, not a mission impossible.  If potential buyers are forced to drive around in aimless dire search while trying to discern a plethora of cryptograms that are nonsensical… they WILL eventually give up.

Simply as that.  But remember, assembling your sale requires a lot of labor and if you’re not willing to go the extra mile and put forth a diligent day or three… forget about it.  Get your ‘Go to the mattresses’ frame of mind energized and have fun with it.  Ask your friends to tackle their closets, donating all of their… 

“Never gonna happen again jeans!”

“Haven’t worn this since Sunny and
Cher were together!”

“If I leave the house in this outfit one more time, I’ll probably be pummeled by random strangers.”

Then pick a day (weather permitting)… and think of it as a going away party for your superfluous, and not to mention completely disregarded items (i.e. rubbish).

Make your yard sale adoption-theme the biggest social event of the month.  Sounds silly, I know but it works!

*Signs, signs everywhere signs (but learn the laws and regulations for your area)

*Price everything.

*Be reasonable.  It doesn’t make a lick a difference if you paid $600 for those last season Dolce & Gabbana stilettos … yard saler’s don’t give a damn.  So mark ‘em down or plan on keeping them in the retirement section of your closet forever. 

*Have plenty of bags for customers.

*Play neutral music for background enjoyment.  It’s not a rave… it’s a sale.

*Keep it neat and organized… visual appeal is vital.

*Have lots of jingle… customers will undoubtedly hand you a twenty for an item that costs 50 cents.

*Employ your customer service guru.

*Be prepared to dicker-down.  This is a little concept known as bartering.  You’re trying to sell this stuff, so take what you can get and accept the best offer.

*Keep sharp-sighted to the location of your cashbox.  An unfortunate digest, though without sounding accusatory, the hard truth is that not every yard-saler is going to be honest, happy, or even pleasant.

*Pet Control.  If your dog looks and/or acts like Cujo then for God’s sake, keep it indoors or contined in the backyard away from the customer’s visual line of fire.

* Perpetually double-check your items and by that, I mean… there are times when valuables have inevitably slipped in among the masses, and you wouldn’t want your Great Grandmother’s Parisian antiquities going for a buck a shot, would you?  

*Restructure your sale.  After several transactions the selling space is going to appear lax, which can deter passerby’s, so keep it organized by combining and eliminating extra tables if need be.

*Think positive, after a couple of hours you’re probably going to be bored to tears.

*Remove all advertising signage at day’s end!

*Have fun, make cash, and whatever doesn’t sell… donate to your local Help House or Goodwill!

Here’s a How-To in Prolific Sales…  Yard Sales that is! 

Growing up, yard sales were practically prerequisite to the realms of drama-filled adolescence, as was the serious mandate in fully accepting the sagacious code of a true bargain-hunter.  While my earliest childhood experience of thrifty-nickels was a visionary classic of sleeping sisters on lawn chairs to the utter confusion of roving customers… we learned quickly the how-to’s that circulate the adage, ‘one man’s trash is another man’s treasure’.  And I suppose it is. Like many among the masses, the fabric of society fervently stockpiles unwarranted clutter that seems a haunting realization behind every key and lock from bustling metropolis to backyard suburbia.  Even the most righteous and self-proclaimed neat-freaks are proficient in the respectable art of gathering a thing or two.  So, after thorough assessment, I decided a little summertime nostalgia was the order of the day.  Designer labels, NWT, DVD’s, relic VHS tapes, shoes, handbags, electrical cords, furniture, belts, bedding, and junk-junk-junk galore…  I suddenly realized it all had to go!  But things have a way of collecting more than dust; they occupy an extraordinary corridor within the cerebral warehouse, called… memories. Alas, out with the old and in with the new, I always say.  Well, not exactly… but it suits this blog and in many ways, it’s reality! 

(Wink-wink)

Part 2 coming soon…

S. A. Harris

Reaching back to latter times, some may be familiar with Newkirk’s, a small cafe that once nestled the heart of Eureka, Missouri’s antique district, known for serving smile amongst a humble community. However, you may not be aware that Barb Watts, of Newkirk’s, is now partial owner of Steel Magnolias Spa and Boutique, located at 110 N. Kirkwood, St. Louis, Missouri. 

Similarly to Eureka, Kirkwood lends an air of Norman Rockwell.  Bustling city streets parallel a flourishing springtime floret that envelops the periphery from nearly every compass direction.  Amidst a leaden skyline, the guileful expertise of feminine philosophy unfolds an unwavering layer when the day commences beneath a metaphorical awning, mandating both resilience and beauty to the fluidity of term, Steel Magnolias.

As a novice patron, I was graciously welcomed into the quaint Spa and Boutique– that balances an ornamental theme of pragmatic solidarity– by owners, Barb Watts and Sharray Hoff.  At first glance, the eye can’t help but breathe the ambiance.  Despite its unique blend of purchasable accessories, ranging from handcrafted jewelry, a harvest of skincare products and fashionable handbags… the myriad of inviting spa indulgences adds to the diversity they have achieved.  Inquiries concerning the noticeable ‘pink ribbons’ springs forth an intense conversation of Breast Cancer Awareness.  I learn that Steel Magnolias, a whimsical escape masquerading as a Spa, has established a commendable interconnection to the St. Louis Cancer and Breast Institute.  They offer complimentary services every Monday to those afflicted by the disease.  For many, this sheen of altruistic contribution to the fabric of our society… will be remembered, as Steel Magnolias Spa and Boutique honors those valiant as survivors. 

S. A. Harris

 In lieu of summer’s heat and fading springtime gardens… I’ll kick-start my blog with a small injection of opinion. 

Let’s face it, a potpourri of millions from around the continental globe keep commercial airlines booming.  Literally, travelers come in all (luggage) shapes and sizes.  There are devote ‘sky-dancers’ of air travel (mile-high club members not included), those adhered by the obligatory call of employment, and some who abominate the notion of ascension altogether.  A quiet observer, I’m wedged amidst the examples.  Personally, having the backside of my seat jolted for an uncomforting 11-hour flight with connections, isn’t as enticing as the springing joy of my final destination.  Point blank… no matter who you are, or where you’re going, the itinerant demand doesn’t necessarily result in smooth endeavors.  Withdrawing the melodic pitch of Frank Sinatra’s ‘Come Fly with Me’ pulsing in near distraction through the computer screen speakers, of course, I speak for myself. 

There’s simply an abundance of scheming forethought entailed to the break down of ongoing logistics, wishing the process were easier.  Sneaking up on homemade travel charts from hidden corners, and then tackling it as if a piranha to its prey, only leads to the diligence of… packing (cue the scary music).  Throw a pile of yesterday’s laundry in a bag and voila,you’re done.  Well not exactly.  I personify the stereotypical model of femininity, ardently organizing a hoard of Louis Vuitton bags reminiscent of a passenger boarding the Titanic as opposed to an Elite Access Continental.  After nearly a mile of brisk strides through a throng of lengthy corridors, clattering stilettos finally locate the last gate to my predestined terminal.  A design that is assuredly part of some new fitness program.  The airport breathes with hullabaloo as overhead PA systems blare effusively (!) to the beat of its own drummer.  I admit, the multitude of people spatter together a Picasso rendition of business, pleasure, and necessity.  Bold datum contends we are the nameless links of air transportation that saturate beneath a torrent of florescent bulbs and flight delays.  A jungle of paperbacks, multicolored Blackberrys, laptops, iPods, and diverse banter illuminate hastened boarding calls as a modicum of boredom weaves the metaphorical features of departure gates, all passengers all rows… terminal.  Without defense to unwarranted luggage cruelty, enthusiasm flatlines.  Ah, the joys of travel.

My silent scream resonates, “Whiskey Tango Foxtrot!” before being whisked away to a Houdini-esque disappearance in the blue.

But travelers beware.  If one arrives at the airport obtrusively clad in… oh, I don’t know, perhaps a three-piece suit and top hat ensemble (enter Sebastian Horsley), prepare for a cross-examination of integrity that will not be graded on a curve.  And a shudder befalls beneath the collective gasp of Liberachi enthusiasts!

With that said (and yes… allow me to present a diction of opinion), writers and readers alike shed a bizarre reality to the somewhat grave communal requiem of nonsense and dramatic interest.  For those uninformed…  Sebastian Horsley, British author of the memoir, Dandy in the Underworld, was denied entrance into the United States on Tuesday, March 18, 2008 at Newark International Airport, New Jersey.  Beneath a humid reiteration of editorials, reports continued the beleaguering news, as Horsley (traveling under the Visa Waiver Program) was refuted on grounds of ‘moral turpitude’.  When did humanity become overtly skewed by these overwhelming levels of vainglorious media coverage?  Spin doctoring the situation is to be expected, but it needs an ounce of moderation.  Unsurprisingly, I believe some may negate the larger picture to the voyeuristic milieu of public relation.  Dandyism is tangling the central concern.  Not only was the London writer subjectively denied entrance into the United States, decidedly our federal government maintains regulative legislation over our morality and expiation.

This fantastically flamboyant man, obviously carriages an acute intelligence to the capitalization of personal tribulation (nothing wrong in writing about it), though doubtfully is his book tour a menacing threat.  The conglomerations of devotees marching single-file, a standing ovation to bookstore launches in his tribute, empathetically harvest top hat soirees to the dance of Gheppetto strings.  This is a blatant observation to the reality of visa repudiations, foregoing 8-hour detainments better known as an interrogation of sorts.  But if a daringly unapologetic Sebastian Horsley has not committed a criminal act within the United States, is a peppered lifestyle enough for the federal government to refute travel?  The flippant affect of incident mysteriously concedes unanswered validation to the multitude of questions amassed.  However, the department of United States Customs– depending on the amount of database information– has the justified authority to deny passport stamps.  Not by a long shot is this an extraordinary act for immigration officials and Border Protection to uphold the duty sworn to their country.  Whilst Horsley’s controversial autobiography remains of little concern to the hazards of civilization, it is indeed a spotlight of humility.  This tit-for-tat even sets thematic tone for a subsequent book.  A brazen realism from London to Newark. 

At day’s end, whether your preference is plane, train, or automobile… life’s little adventurous side (!)definitely imparts a story of unexpected moments, which just might involve a bureaucratic twist.

S. A. Harris