Keep interrogating the nepo babies!
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Keep interrogating the nepo babies!
The Swifties are about to kick off some class warfare.
Greetings from the set of Tool Time!
No, Tim Allen isn’t here making bad jokes about how you can’t say Merry Christmas anymore. But my apartment does currently look like the set of a Home Depot commercial featuring various rugged activities such as sanding, spackling, and generally covering everything I own in taped down plastic tarps as I prepare to repaint my entire, beat-to-hell apartment an immaculate shade of white again. I’ve never felt so handy.
As someone who has lived in rented apartments their entire adult life, this type of domestic proficiency has never been a requisite skill set. But now that I’ve made a deal with the devil (landlord) and entered the hardware store fray, I feel like I may have uncovered a whole new personality. I also feel like the business of having to prep the apt in this way and accomplish this task before the imminent approach of Thanksgiving has kicked my productivity into overdrive. I am getting so much bullshit on my to do list done that I even bleached every white t-shirt I own the other day right after I finished trellising a pencil cactus grown amok. To add identity crisis to identity crisis, because I’ve had to remove all the little pictures and knick knacks I have hung all over these walls for the past 6 years, I now also have a newfound obsession with extreme minimalism in my home decor. Who is she.
Anyway, when I haven’t been cosplaying as a handyman, I’ve been watching Twitter implode like the Death Star in slow motion. And I’ve been thinking a lot about how much time and energy I’ve poured into that platform and how I should probably start investing some of the singular focus I put into screaming at strangers on the internet about clothing into literally anything else. Ideally, something that would also be monetizable as opposed to just free fodder for the Daily Mail to repackage into clickbait. So I’m thinking I might start learning some rudimentary video editing skills so I can turn I <3 Mess into a YouTube channel? It would just be this….but, like, read aloud? I don’t know you guys. Perhaps the dissolution of Twitter is just how I finally set myself free from the internet once and for all. JK we’ll never be free!!!
Also! I am doing the adult freelancer thing and finally setting up an S Corp and I need a name for it! Please help! So far all I’ve got is “Mess, Inc.” which I think is a strong contender, but I have to come up with two more anyway, so let’s hear ‘em!
On today’s episode of Good Press, I fixed the audio problem despite Substack’s best attempts at sabotaging my burgeoning podcasting career. We discussed Harry Styles getting HIT in the peeper, Kendall Jenner parking in handicap spots and peeing in buckets, and I gave listeners TWO additional reasons not listed below of why I think the EmRata / Pete Davidson dating stories are pure fiction. Please give that a listen!
And don’t forget, about 400 of your compatriots are gathered at all times over on The Mess Discord ready to chat about anything and everything stylistically terrible that crosses your path.
No point delaying this any longer!
First of all, this is the BEST. This is peak Mess. This is the wind beneath this newsletter’s wings!!!! I love every deranged choice Bebe Rexha has made here. As you can see, the pop star dressed up as a blue velvet-upholstered gramophone for the MTV EMAs, but clearly didn’t think about the fact that she would be photographed from multiple angles and would end up looking from the side like she was being served up on the half shell. I would love to hear literally any explanation at all about why this happened and how it came to be, but I am also happy to live in blissful ignorance regarding the inspiration and fabrication of this gorgeous optical illusion that makes it look like Bebe got stuck trying to take one of those Balenciaga dresses off over her head. As always, I expect nothing less from the inspired mind that brought us “crunch, crunch.”
And while I was not previously familiar with model Leomie Anderson’s boyfriend, rapper Lancey Foux, he has instantly become my new favorite person in the men’s fashion scene. The matching Prada gloves are a little too Barney for my taste and I wish the reference wasn’t quite so explicitly Avatar with the ears, but there’s something about this purpley-blue face paint that I actually find to be really lovely. Especially when juxtaposed with the super basic Givenchy outfit and at an event as low stakes as GQ Man of the Year. I don’t know, I think Lancey’s kind of on to something with this “high-end alien who crash-landed at the function” aesthetic.
And honestly, I don’t even care what shenanigans they’re going to get up to in the seconds season of And Just Like That… because everything was worth it in order for this singular perfect image to exist. (I’m sorry to report that judging by the profusion of Getty Images of this scene, it does not appear to be an “Eat Me” sandwich guy revival. But I think we can all see the palpable sexual tension between Mr. Weiner and Miranda here regardless. Che Diaz, who.)
Ok, now here’s where this e-mail starts to turn a little iffy. Because while I am thrilled to know about this plastic surgery phenomenon, I am not so happy that I now can’t stop seeing it everywhere I look. This week, a plastic surgeon on TikTok was so kind as to teach me and millions of others about a phenomenon known as lip filler migration where essentially you get so much filler over a period of time that it begins to stretch out the skin and move past the boundaries of the lip to sit above the upper lip muscle creating this sort of John Waters mustache illusion. I apologize for burdening you all with this insight into the inner workings of A-list injectables, but I am horrified and fascinated and had no choice but to force you to partake in that horror and fascination with me.
And I guess we have no choice but to talk about this, a subject which I also addressed on today’s podcast. My main issue with this whole Emily Ratajkowski / Pete Davidson showmance is just how uninspired it all is. We’ve done this revenge plot already. There’s nothing surprising left about this man being paired with an inordinately beautiful famous women right at a crucial juncture in her tabloid saga. There are other ugly, funny men in this world to date. They’re even wearing the same outfit, a ploy I believe you will remember from his early days with Kim when she was using him as a walking billboard for her new Skims menswear line. I’m starting to think I need to teach some sort of PR/media literacy class to the masses so we can all finally get hip to these sort of stunts and stop falling for the same old tricks over and over again. Apologies for the cynicism, but I am particularly skeptical of this pairing because Pete also happens to be EmRata’s ex-husband’s best friend. They have known each other for YEARS and even starred in a Moose Knuckles campaign together last year, but now they have suddenly found love in this hopeless place. Just a reminder that this is also the woman who was recently linked to Brad Pitt via rumors that were even less material than Gigi and Leo. At least those two have an actual photograph of them somewhere in the same vicinity as one another. It’s also always struck me as odd that Emily never bothered to publicly denounce those rumors given that they were happening at the exact same time as all those reports coming out about Brad being an abuser. Interesting. Convenient.
These two outfits are a tough lesson for me about being careful what I wish for. Last week, I said I wanted something new from Kim and, well, I got it. Sort of. You know, different for her anyway. On the left, we got a slashed and bow-tied Barbie pink version of her typical Balenciaga athleisure gown. A look which many on Twitter compared to the dress the mice make for Cinderella. As I’ll discuss more a bit further down, brands forcing their handbags upon red carpet looks remains one of my top pet peeves. But nothing is worse to me than the insane tailoring happening around Kim’s calf. It’s bunched and crumpled and looks like they left all the safety pins in after making this thing short enough so that she can actually walk in it. And all this from a brand that is supposedly couture-caliber. If we have to do this same thing over and over, can’t we at least get Kim’s measurements right?
And on the right, we have Kim once again taking my advice, but in the worst way possible. What immediately struck me as extremely odd about this outfit is that it might be the first time she’s ever worn an actual pair of joots?! Like I know she wears the pantashoes nonstop, but I feel like we’ve never seen her in a denim variation before and it’s super weird and somehow even more unflattering that her usual style. Once again, she’s a little too short for them and no one has bothered to take up that bunching, but additionally the whole thing is extremely Julia Fox. I wonder if Kim feels like enough time has passed now since Julia’s breakup with Kanye that she can start actively appropriating Julia’s aesthetic cues into her own iconography omnibus. But I don’t think Kim’s fully realized yet just how powerful Julia has become in her absence.
Kim’s inability to innovate is also particularly frustrating when you see photos like this of Irina Shayk. A moment where I thought to myself, “Wow, it really is that simple.” Pop a tee on top of the usual Balenciaga spandex shroud and even that manages to add a little something extra. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not blown away by this styling or anything, but it is a nice, little twist on a very played-out ensemble. However, the way Burberry always saddles this woman with the ugliest clunker of a shoe I’ve ever laid eyes on is incredible. I previously pointed out this phenomenon in Sloppy Seconds regarding a pair she wore in Venice that gave her full-on clown toe, and it’s happening here once again. You know I would never say this under normal circumstances, but thank god for this maxi skirt because at least it’s covering up just how heinous these $1200 coffin-toed, sneaker-brogue hybrids really are.
And another breath of fresh this week came from Julia Fox who has finally ascended to the Mugler throne she so rightfully deserves, attending the opening of the Thierry Mugler: Couturissme exhibit at the Brooklyn Museum. But actually, seeing her in the brand for what I believe is the first time ever just made me realize — why doesn’t Mugler dress her? The starlet known for eternally having her tits, ass, and abs out who has never met a cutout she didn’t like??? She’s literally already a Mugler poster girl without the access to the actual clothing. I know Julia has said in the past that she really wants to wear indie New York designers and use her platform to elevate their notoriety, but I still wonder why high fashion brands are being so hands-off with her. Especially as she’s proven herself to have so much more staying power than anyone previously thought. Like not even a purse? A measly boot? Why are we letting the most genuinely exciting celeb to come out of this year languish in luxury brand obscurity?
Sometimes I still can’t believe this pop culture gift we’ve been given. Especially after this week’s “gay bone” conversation. Who would’ve thought we’d enter 2022 with Juliye and leave with Kanye completely banished from society and Julia as our shining beacon of celebrity. Beautiful, honestly.
But Julia was not the only icon at the opening of the Brooklyn Museum exhibit. The Clermont twins were also in attendance in ye olde Mugler catsuit which I actually think becomes more interesting the wilder the wearer’s proportions are. Anyway, as OG readers will recall, I’ve waxed poetic in this newsletter before about my love of these girls and their Instagram aesthetic and how I think they would be an incredible addition to the fashion conversation. They so perfectly embody America’s extreme, exaggerated, plastic beauty standards and eternal love for the video vixen turned Instagram thot, and I just think all of that juxtaposed with really high fashion would make for a fantastic visual dialogue.
So when I tweeted the other day that fashion needs to stop sleeping on these gals, I really did not expect the response I received. I got what I thought were some oddly strong reactions to what I see as an extremely benign proposition, including the suggestion that we should not support Shannade at all as she was caught stealing credit cards from a John who had overdosed. A crime that she already went to prison for……I don’t know, man. I just don’t believe that low-level financial fraud, particularly financial fraud that she’s already done the time for, is just cause to hinder a Black woman from all future successes in life.
I also think a lot of the extreme negative reaction to them just comes from a gut response to Kardashian fatigue when in reality the Claremont twins are the prototypes that family modeled their entire Yeezy-era aesthetic on. They are also very much what Thierry Mugler was all about. This was a man who was making scandalous clothes for all sorts of bodies and dressing porn stars, drag queens, and trans models loooong before the rest of the industry caught onto those ideas as cool (and clearly, many never have).
Now this is some Joy Villa-level foolishness if I’ve ever seen it. Noa Kirel’s Jewish Kanye West ensemble for the MTV EMAs is dumb as hell. According to the Israeli pop star, the look is supposed to draw attention to anti-semitism by encrusting imagery of the rapper in Stars of David, but her stylist really gave the game away when he told some outlet, “She wanted a crazy outfit that everyone would remember. She wanted something topical that will be talked about.” What she wanted was attention. And as always happens with these types of outrage-bait red carpet ensembles, it never really works. I mention Joy Villa up top because she is the queen of these shenanigans. Throughout the Trump presidency, she wore one Republican talking point-themed dress after the other to the Grammys. It reminded me of the way some rightwing tourists will wear all their MAGA merch to Times Square and wander around waiting to be aggressed only to quickly realize that no one gives a shit about them and all they’ve done is make it easier to identify who the weirdo in the mix is.
Guess who’s back! Sydney Sweeney’s stylist Molly Dickson has done it again! And by done it again I mean built a wildly unflattering outfit entirely focused around this woman’s cramped cleavage. While this feels like a rehash of that vintage Versace dress they turned backwards for no reason at all, it is in fact LaQuan Smith. Actually, in discussing this look on Twitter, I discovered there’s actually a bit of a mystery contained within this look as Molly claims it’s custom, while LaQuan’s press release clearly stated that it was straight off the runway…….troubling either way. If it is a runway sample, it shouldn’t be because it very visibly does not fit her chest and is crunching her boobs like a mammogram. And if it is custom…..how the hell did this lopsided fit happen!? It doesn’t even look like her boobs are fully contained within the cup, although you already know I love that fully articulated metal nipple. Long story short: I demand answers regarding this custom mystery top and I demand Sydney stop punishing herself and her body in this manner.
Speaking of sartorial punishments, the atrocities that Dolce & Gabbana continues to inflict upon its celebrity clientele are truly shocking to me. As always, I must ask, even if every celeb who wears this brand was totally unaware of their decades of bigotry and racism, surely they can see with their eyes that this stuff is just plain old ugly. This entire outfit is a mishmash of Michael’s appliqués hot glued on to Shein sale section apparel, and I didn’t even show you the brocade boots. I’m starting to believe this brand is for the client who is interested in cultivating a sadomasochistic relationship with their clothing designer.
Now this is the true sign that we’ve returned to the halcyon days of indie sleaze. The celebs are back in their activist slogan t-shirts again! Oh, how I’ve missed this completely impotent, virtue-signaling public gesture of charity. I’m obsessed with the egotism baked into these moments, like what exactly is this supposed to do for anyone? I’m guessing the usual celebrity argument is probably that they believe they’re “bringing awareness” to the issue. But this is just an Iranian woman’s name printed over and over again, and for the average consumer of this image who does not know who Mahsa Amini was I highly doubt they’re going to stop in their tracks to go google it and learn more about her and the issues women in that country are currently facing all just because Jessica Chastain deemed her important enough to wear her name printed on a t-shirt. In my opinion, it’s some real Ryan Gosling “darfur” business. Like darfur what, buddy? Getting a photo of a word symbolizing a complicated human rights issue published on people dot com is not activism. If you actually want to do something, give away your money. Even a t-shirt with a giant QR code that takes people somewhere they could donate would be more effective than this.
Dua Lipa provided me with what is most likely my last gasp of interest in the denim overload trend, which is this extremely Bebe belt masquerading as a mini skirt (Diesel, of course). And much as with Kim, this is what I get for demanding celebrities provide me with novel pastie shapes — a GCDS x Patrick Star original. It’s like if Mermaid Man got entangled in a fishing net.
And since we’ve officially entered the Mess trend corner, allow me to reiterate the above tweet as we are in fact overdue for a dickey revival. A very glamorous version of which is being modeled here by Indya Moore. While I don’t see it coming back in it’s true 80s iteration where the goal was to create the illusion you were wearing a full shirt underneath sweaters and jackets, I can see it returning as it’s own standalone garment, leaving all angles of breast exposed and dangling freely. It seems to me like a very logical extension of the pasties trend fused with the true 80s revival we’ve seen cropping up lately in all its leg warmer glory.
And here’s a bad photo of a good dress that Doja Cat wore to a Loewe dinner. You can’t really see from this angle, but it’s this Fall 2022 runway look, which not only features a life-sized print of a nude woman’s body, but also a 3D deflated balloon bra with a fake hand cupping one of the breasts. And of course, Doja finished off the whole ensemble with a pump featuring a fake rose heel. While I love this look overall, I do wonder if the bag was contractual. Because, for those who don’t know, some brands only let you borrow their stuff if you promise you’re going to style it head-to-toe as it appeared on the runway. And while this purse was technically a part of the runway look, in reality, it belongs nowhere near this outfit, especially on a red carpet. But either way, I’m loving these increasingly surrealist takes on the trompe l’oeil trend that JW Anderson has been very much at the forefront of. I look forward to seeing all the way he continues to push the weirdness.
And even if you don’t like the dress, how can you not love this woman?
I also need to learn to stop doubting Bella Hadid’s beguiling ways because once again, just when I think she’s taken her look one step too far as with her Where’s Waldo knit cap the other day, here comes Iris Law wearing a full-on doily as a bucket hat. I guess it really is just a Bella-see, Bella-do world out there. And at this rate, we’re cruising towards an Amish girl winter — you heard it here first!
While Lori Harvey may have ushered us into our current hooded dress era, I’m afraid the skull cap has got the best of her this time. I feel like this dress is trying to strike a middle-ground between totally opaque and totally sheer when it really should’ve just picked a lane. That, and the smattering of torso cutouts are a little too clustered so it doesn’t give the barely-there cutout drama it should. And, as I’ve said before, I wish we’d all release this opera glove trend back into the wild. Seamlessly attaching them to this shrug only makes that wish stronger.
Per our conversation last week, I just wanted to point out that Anya Taylor-Joy once again dressed in a head-to-toe power color, this time with a patent leather trench coat draped across her shoulders that looks an awful lot like Superman’s cape. While I’m not in love with the symbolism behind this burgeoning superhero trend, I gotta say, the idea of casual streetwear capes becoming a thing is actually rather thrilling.
And finally, I cannot explain to you the jump scare that the image on the left caused me when I was reading through this Travis Barker GQ Hype interview. At first I was baffled by the sudden appearance of this zombie Hannibal Lecter-esque figure in the penultimate image of a story when there was no prior Halloween imagery present. But once I scrolled down to see Travis modeling alongside the iconic 12-foot Skelly, I changed my tune entirely. I demand more props from Spirit Halloween be incorporated into photo shoots at random!
And as an extra special treat for all of the time and energy you choose to waste here every Friday, here’s the latest photo of Demi Moore’s dog Pilaf in the teeniest, tiniest baby pink sweater ever made.
Ok, now it’s time for me to power down like Drake until next Friday. Nighty-night, sleepyheads!
And finito. We’ve gathered here today, dearly beloveds, to witness the union between Mess and fashion. If you’ve made it to the end of this email and still have no objections to this unholy union, then please inform everyone in your congregation that in order to become an ordained Mess minister they need to sign up for a subscription today. And if they refuse their heavenly calling, then go right ahead and gift them a paid sub anyway and clothe them in the finest MESS MERCH garb. And please don’t forget to join all 400 of your fellow Messketeers in the ~ DISCORD ~ today!
This lifelong commitment to have and to hold these fashion abominations from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death to us part would not be possible without my better halves, the OG Mess Masters. Twice weekly, these bridezillas seek out the gaudiest gowns and fugliest frocks to fuel their tirade. And for just $5 a month, you too could experience a rage you’ve never previously felt before, so please become a paid subscriber today.
If you can’t afford it, ask me about getting a comped paid subscription or leave a little tip on my Venmo at your leisure. And don’t forget that if you send over a screenshot of your donation to any abortion or bail fund, your next month of Mess is on me.
Bye-bye, my beauties!
