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Tuesday Icon

This week, BurdaStyle takes on life, love and mankind. ICON STELLA MCCARTNEY

A guy I knew in London used to be in this not-so- great band with his old flatmate from art school. Said flatmate at some point dated a cute but grungy girl from the fashion department, Stella, who described herself as “from up north” and who tooled around the city in the world’s crappiest hatchback. After seeing the flatmate for a few months, Stella invites him to her parents’ place for the weekend. They ride out to the country, and arrive at a much larger house than the flatmate had expected. The parents are out on the grounds when they get there, so Stella and the flatmate perch themselves in a den of some kind, and wait. There are photos on the wall. Photos of Paul and Linda McCartney.



Boy. Boy, boy, boy. I guess it’s true, what they say about spring, all that stuff about life renewing itself as the season turns over. I woke up a week ago to discover a pigeon nesting on the ledge outside my bathroom; when I opened the window to let in the fine, warm morning, she flew away, revealing two speckled eggs. She’s back now. Normally, I hate pigeons, and normally, when nature sneaks up on me in New York, I call the exterminator. I have a particular phobia about mice. But here I am, two or three times a day, peering at my pigeon sideways through the windowpane so she doesn’t catch my shadow and fly off. I don’t want to scare her. I feel like we’re in on this springtime together, both of us guarding something precious and potential, she her eggs and me my boy.

Saturday Trend

This week, BurdaStyle goes L.A. native. TREND WAISTED

Kiss my ass, I thought when I saw the high-waisted jeans at Chloe a couple years ago. Like most women, I’d built a fine collection of denim around the idea that a dark, slouchy, skinny pair that rides the hips was about as sexy as jeans could get. Screw you, Phoebe Philo, my mind played on, half apologizing to the departing Chloe genius as my train of thought kept running. It’ll never happen.

Friday Playlist

This week, BurdaStyle goes L.A. native. PLAYLIST DIDION

I had a hard time with L.A. at first. At first, it was a blur of cars and parties and beaches; I was on vacation and the city made no firm impression. The second time I was supposed to visit, I didn’t go: My flight was due to leave on September 16, 2001, and though the planes were in the air again by then, I was haunted not only by thoughts of flying, of airports, of unbroken blue sky, but also by the fear that New York might not be there for me when I returned. I postponed the trip eight months, and there again, the beaches, the cars, the parties in houses with large windows facing out on barbeque backyards. I had come from a city fraught with disaster, and Los Angeles struck me like a theme park ride, everyone laughing, laughing, laughing as the world spun out of control.

Thursday Fashion

This week, BurdaStyle goes L.A. native. FASHION LEFT COASTING

Let’s get something straight: Los Angeles is not a fashion capital. A style capital, perhaps. A capital of the garment trade, yes, inasmuch as a good deal of buying, selling and producing goes on there. Increasingly, a shopping capital, boasting not only stalwarts such as Fred Segal and the paparazzi-plagued Kitson, but also a growing number of trendsetting stores like Klasse LA, Scout, Creatures of Comfort, and as of next month, the West Coast outpost of New York cool kid boutique Opening Ceremony. But a fashion capital is something different, a city whose runways set the pace not for the locals but for the world. L.A. remains mired in provincialism, hosting only a very few designers able to conceive a world where people wear things other than jeans, bikinis, spangled tee-shirts, flip-flops and red carpet gowns.

Wednesday Beauty

This week, BurdaStyle goes L.A. native. BEAUTY BROW BEATEN

This is a big season for the eyebrow.

Scratch that, I’m starting over. Sometimes writing about beauty really makes me feel like an idiot. A big season for the eyebrow? Seriously?

Anyway. A few years ago I was a full-time beauty idiot, and in the course of sort of, well, luxuriating professionally,

Tuesday Icon

This week, BurdaStyle goes L.A. native. ICON SARAH SILVERMAN

Bring up the subject of L.A. beauty, and the same few keywords come up again and again: Plastic, blond, tits, Botox, “Baywatch,” fake. And indeed, there’s plenty of that Porno Barbie look flying around Los Angeles; the stereotype exists for a reason. My first few trips to L.A., however, it wasn’t the armies of Pam Anderson-lookalikes that brought me up short, inasmuch as I’d prepared myself for them. No, it was the more generalized self-consciousness of L.A. women that got to me: Everywhere I went, I had the sensation that they were looking over their shoulders at themselves, less to make sure they could see what the spectators saw than to make sure there were spectators, period. Los Angeles is a town where even the people who aren’t actors are, in a way, actors.



About five years ago I attended the wedding of a friend of mine from college. Among those at the reception was a guy who’d graduated a few classes ahead of me, someone I’d always found a little churlish. Talk turned to politics, and inevitably, to 9/11. The only New Yorker at our table, I found myself repeating, for the umpteenth time, the story of my 9/11, waking up to find that the screen of the TV I’d left on had turned blue, trying and failing to dial out on my cell phone; climbing up to my roof just in time to see the first tower fall. There’s more to it than that, but Mr. Churlish, as I’ll call him, interrupted me.

Saturday Trend

This week, BurdaStyle takes off, goes off and gets off track. TREND THE MIRTH OF WOOL

There are big trends to note from the Paris shows – abstractions of mood; news about volume and proportion. And then there are the micro-trends, asterisks on the edge of the major stories. If one of the large Parisian trends this season was, in essence, “fashion goes to the Winter Olympics,”

Friday Playlist

This week, BurdaStyle takes off, goes off and gets off track. PLAYLIST BLADES OF GLORY

As long as we’re on the subject of winter sports, I’m going to admit to an obsession with Blades of Glory. Coming from a girl who’s seen Foreign Film winner The Lives of Others twice, once to watch and once to take notes, this is an odd confession. I usually take a pass on the big comedies. Moreover, I’m a Will Ferrell skeptic. Playing George W. on SNL: Awesome.

Thursday Fashion

This week, BurdaStyle takes off, goes off and gets off track. FASHION SPEED RACER

It’s vastly in the interest of the big fashion houses for me to say this, but Fall 2007 really is a major season for accessories. I say it’s in their interest because accessories are where the money in fashion gets made these days; whether that was a motivating factor for designers or not, much of the shows’ collective energy derived from fresh ideas about how to finish an outfit. It was a busy season for stylists.

Wednesday Beauty

This week, BurdaStyle takes off, goes off and gets off track. BEAUTY AFTERBATH

Here’s the thing about winter: It’s cold. Newsflash, yeah, but for some reason I always find myself surprised and dismayed when the frigid weather rolls into town. I’m freezing, I’m cranky, I need a vacation, and so, in an act of perfect illogic,

Tuesday Icon

This week, BurdaStyle takes off, goes off and gets off track. ICON CLAUDINE LONGET

When I think about skiing, I think about Claudine Longet. It’s too bad that I do; if things had worked out better for the gamine Parisienne, if all she’d done was marry Andy Williams and croon basically anodyne love songs, I might never think of her at all. But apparently Longet meant what she said when she titled her best-known album “Love is Blue,” and after three kids and a few passable hits, she left Williams and took up with Olympic skier “Spider” Sabich. Then, one night in Aspen, she shot him.



Like pretty much everyone else on earth, I watched the Academy Awards last month. I watched the show, and I watched the red carpet pre-show, and the after-party post-shows, and frankly I found the experience exhausting. It’s not so much that the year’s marquee nominees were kind of meh, or that the ceremony itself was so typically boring. No, it’s the clothes that did me in.

Saturday Trend


This week, BurdaStyle gets serious.


I really wanted glasses when I was a kid. Some character in a book I loved probably had specs; maybe Harriet, in “Harriet the Spy.” Around the same time I made my mind up that I wanted glasses, I also decided to change my name to Clarissa, indeed, would answer to nothing else all of first grade. My judgment as a child was dubious.


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