Archive | September 2007

Lana Turner Gives Me A Warning…


Let me tell you a story.

A few nights ago, I was lying abed, in my usual wisp of chiffon, a scented candle made by Sarah Jessica Parker burning near the bed. Bucky was in his little dog bed, making soft woofing noises, presumably chasing a one-foot-high Andre Leon Talley in his dreams. I was in that mystic state between sleep and waking.

And then I heard someone softly calling my name. Thinking my assistant had locked herself in the armoire or some such, my eyes snapped open and I said, “WHAT DO YOU WANT?”

Standing before me, as beautiful as ever, was my dear dead friend Lana Turner!

She was in her spangled costume from “Dancing Co-Ed,” back in her red-haired days, and gazing at me with a disapproving smile on her lovely young face.

“Lana, dahling! How nice to see you, and without even a medium around!” I cried, sitting up. Bucky looked up, blinked, and went back to sleep. Dogs are overly pragmatic sometimes, if you ask moi.

“Oh, honey, I had to come. I’ve been watching you for a while.”

Moi? Whatever for?”

Lana hesitated, and then said, “The way you treat your help. I mean, when I was alive I was plenty temperamental, and I fired my fair share of folks. But youyou’ve got to slow down! Soon you’ll simply run out of hired help! Even prisoners on work release wouldn’t work for you.”

I drew myself up, gathering my wisp around me. “I hardly think my attitude towards the idiots I hire is your business, my dear Mademoiselle Turner. After all, things have changed since your time. People don’t know their place.”

She shrugged her shoulders, sparkling slightly. “There’s something I learned about where I’ve been, honey. It’s called karma. Or as we used to say, what goes around, comes around. And oh, boy, do you have it coming around! When I was first at Metro, and I wasn’t a star, they worked me like a dog. School, acting lessons, dancing lessons, publicity—I didn’t have a minute free. That’s what you’re doing to your staff, and they don’t get to be movie stars in return like I did.”

Merde,” I retorted.

Lana threw up her hands. “Okay, don’t listen. But you’ll see what I mean, if you know what I mean. See ya round the séance table!”

And with that she vanished. But I was later to learn exactly what she meant.

To be continued –

Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

Such A Relief to Order People Around Again!


Pardonnez moi once again for not having posted recently, but I had to hire a maid and a new personal assistant! Exhausting, I tell you. Checking mountains of references, having my detectives send the videos to my Blackberry, making sure all of the apartment Hide-A-Cams are in place–

Not to mention, shall we say, “arranging” to have my former assistant–well, what is the word I want? Silenced? Yes, I believe silenced is the safest choice.

After all, she did resign without notice during Fashion Week Spring 2008.

Now do not leap to conclusions–she’s not dead, just a tad, well, shaken up.

My new assistant is easily intimidated, and that makes things so much smoother. And there are several new riders on the confidentiality agreement. My new maid is not only childless, but unmarried, so there should be nothing that prevents her from fulfilling my merest whim day or night.


Ahem. What was I saying? Oh, dear, my assistant jumped a bit when I called to the maid.

It’s all right, dear, I won’t hurt you. If you behave. Just keep typing until I tell you to stop. And remember, don’t get your face too close to Bucky’s mouth. He’s adorable, but those teeth are razor sharp and he has, as the television hosts say, “issues” about anyone but moi being too close to him.

Ah, I must tell you, my faithful readers, this is sheer bliss. I feel like Anna Wintour.

Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

It’s all right, dear, you can stop typing now. No, really, NOW. I mean NOW. STOP TYPING! WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU, YOU IDIOT? DO I HAVE TO PULL YOUR HANDS OFF THE KEY–

A Parade of Shoes Marches To The House of Style!


There is currently a girl from the temp agency here (I would not trust her with this blog-thing, but she seems to be competent at steaming clothes) until I can get someone up to my standards.

Is that TOO MUCH to ask? Sometimes it feels like such a bother to learn my assistant’s name, since there’s going to be a new one ere long. No loyalty these days, that is the problem. No loyalty at all. Maybe I should call them all “Smithie” and leave it at that.

In any event, the Bodacious House of Style is offering some new and vintage footwear for fall, and some of them are already up, so do please take a look!

New With Tags Faux Leather Sandals, size 11W:

Vintage 60s Coquettes Hot Pink Fabric Kitten Heels, with original box, size 8:

Strappy Evan Picone High Heels, size 8.5:

New With Tags Fioni Black and White Ankle Cuff Sandals, size 12:

New Without Box Steve Madden Silver Wedge Platform Slides, size 10:

Vintage 80s Midnight Blue Satin medium heel Pumps with rhinestones in the bows, size 12:

What are you waiting for? Start shoe shopping!

Oh, dear, I heard a scream from the workroom…the temp/”Smithie” must have had an accident with the steamer. Why do these things always happen to moi??

Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

Tyra Banks Speaks For Us All!


This must be short, because I have a parade of candidates for a new maid to interview today. (After the previous incident, I shall make certain they are childless.)

However, this was sent to me by an admirer. I do not watch television, but I do know who Tyra Banks is, and I believe this should be viewed by all of the women who read this blog:

While I would never use such language, I applaud her courage. Particularly after watching dozens of starving teenagers stagger through Fashion Week.

Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

The Three Tomatoes Write About Moi!


Fashion Week is over at last, and now I have some time to myself. And I truly mean to myself, because my assistant and my maid both resigned during the past week. So, it’s been calls to the employment agencies and take-out from Pastis, until this dry spell is over.

Fortunately, my wonderful pup Bucky is always there for me, in good times and bad. As I type this, he is on my lap, which makes typing slightly difficult. Because his head is resting on my right forearm. But move him? Never! A dog’s love is forever–

Oh! He jumped off my lap and trotted out of the room! Damn the beast! Bucky must have smelled the leftover coq au vin in the kitchen that I was heating up.

Heating up my own leftovers…that is what your faithful correspondent is reduced to. But life could be far worse.

This same week, I was profiled in The Three Tomatoes, a simply marvelous e-newsletter aimed at the fairer sex, with both tremendous aplomb and wide circulation. It’s an absolute must-read, mes amis.

Here’s the link to yesterday’s newsletter:

Read and enjoy! And envy me, of course. (But then, who does not?) The only fact they got wrong is that I have never been in rehab…that horrible doppelganger with the same name of mine has been, and HOW she got mentioned in the article is beyond me! Being confused with her is so deeply annoying. I have sent letters from my lawyer demanding she change her name, but so far the upstart has refused.

With that one small exception, it is a delightful article in a wonderful publication, so I shall graciously overlook it. Pardonnez moi, I have to go rescue the coq au vin. Bucky has a terribly sensitive little tummy and I cannot have him messing the carpets.

Elisa and Bucky the not-so-Wonderdog

Fashion Week. Marc and Marc: A Study In Contrasts


As you might guess, my new assistant did not quite work out.

So I am actually transcribing this myself, which explains the delay. I have tried to keep up, but there are only so many hours in the day, particularly when you have to keep changing your attire. (I dreaded being criticized by the Fugly Girls in New York magazine for wearing the same outfit twice! They are tres amusant, but merciless.)

Unfortunately, on Monday I had the unpleasant task of not only firing my would-be assistant, but that meant that my maid resigned as well. I was effectively left with NO staff whatsoever, except for my limo driver!

However! Your faithful correspondent is not a woman who bows down before Fate; I dressed myself in a silk robins-egg blue Calvin Klein dress with matching shoes and a carrier for Bucky, and packed a vintage Chanel outfit for the Marc Jacobs show.

I started by attending the Marc Bouwer show at the Promenade. The set design was cool and apaiser, a glowing green runway and backdrop. On each seat was a little tin of sugarless mints, labeled Marc Bouwer Glimints. (Since I arrived early and several seats were still empty, I helped myself. A woman can never have too many breath mints. One might find oneself talking to Roger Federer!)

At first I was a tad de’céu. The first dresses were well cut, but so billowy. Perfect if one is having what is called a “fat day,” but not my idea of Fashion In The True Sense. And there was one white bathing suit that was the image of Rudi Gernreich. The models were all wearing top knots that looked extremely painful, except for one blonde with short hair. So no hats.

However, once the colors came in, matters quickly improved! Turquoise is one of my favorite colors, and it was well represented in dresses, bathing suits, and other garments. The rest of the show was a dazzling sea of color. There was a magnificent red gown that I would have torn off the model’s back had I been sitting close enough. The overall look for the collection was flowing, drapy, and soft.

The only misstep, to moi, was the simply hideous sequined beaded patchwork minidress. What was the man thinking? That Halloween is coming?

However, he saved the best for last: the spectacular dress that closed the show, a turquoise goddess gown with a satin and chiffon train and a matching shredded capelet that mimicked feathers.

Ivana Trump was in the front row near me, of course, with her youthful charge, and on the other side sat a number of models who were to do the Marc Jacobs show much, much, much later in the evening. Tim Gunn and Veronica Webb were there. Fortunately Mr. Gunn didn’t recognize me in the dark. Also nearby was Lisa Marie Presley, who has gone blonde, a most unfortunate choice.

Backstage, I snuck out my camera and got a shot of the designer being interviewed by Veronica Webb (forgive the quality of the shot).

There was an after-party at a hot, tiny storefront down on West 18th Street, where I drank diet soda and made small talk with a rather drunk foreign blonde whom I believe was Donatella Versace.

Then it was back into the limo, out of the Calvin Klein, into the Chanel, put Bucky in a matching burgundy carrier, and back to the Lexington Avenue Armory for the Marc Jacobs show. I had already been informed it was going to start late, but two hours? I had been banned from his show during the last Fashion Week, but I managed to wrangle an invitation in exchange for…well, let’s just say it was not exactly legal and involved going to Chinatown in dark glasses.

I am sorry, mon cher readers, but I simply. Didn’t. Get it. There was all this talk of “breaking the barriers of old fashioned sexuality,” which is a lovely idea…Victoria Beckham looked truly ridiculous in the tightest dress this side of a Lower East Side drag queen…but to moi, this is not what is going to take its place. Who needs funny hats when you can have hair like a homeless person?

Courtney Love, swaying slightly, seemed to be enjoying it all, however. I was going to take her to task for inflicting babydoll dresses on us all. But then I remembered it was actually her husband, Kurt Cobain, who introduced that particular phenomenon. A pity that he was the one with the looks and the talent.

The only thing more ridiculous was this outfit from Marc for Marc Jacobs…he absolutely outdid himself, if that’s the word I want.

What the well-dressed young lunatic is wearing, no doubt.

Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

from ms decarlos notes fashion week

this miss decarlos new assistant. she a mean lady. a very mean lady. but my mother said i gotta do this or things gonna get way fucked up.

miss decarlos notes

luca luca was dull dull. transparant shapeless dresses one after the other i cant spell the names in the front row what kind of name is ivanka? gawnt models covered up, thank g-d.

on the other hand, the diane vonfirstenberg show was marvelous. colorful, femenine, and fun. i intend to order a number of her dresses.

(dios mio, this woman has money!)

despite her browlift diane looked radiant at the end as well she should. and the funny hat kwowshent was low. a few straw hats, but mostly had scarfs.