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The "which outfit is more expensive?" TikToks are going to be my 13th reason.
I have no idea what has come over me, but this has been an absolutely huge week for Gatorade here at Mess HQ. Despite the fact that I have not imbibed a sip of this stuff since sophomore year of college when I impulsively bought a palette of Riptide Rush from Costco (who amongst us hasn’t fallen for such a bargain) and then it lived in a permanently lukewarm state in the trunk of my car for at least two years as that is obviously far more Gatorade than a single woman is meant to consume in a semester. But now, I’m back on my Frost bullshit — the only category of Gatorade I recognize — and I’m loving every second of this electrolyte-fueled journey into pre-Diabetic territory. Although I have noticed the distinct absence of the soft purple glow of the Riptide flavor on my bodega shelves, and I need to know who to contact about this oversight immediately.
That reminds me, after conferring with my Artist’s Way gals last week, I confirmed my greatest fear to be true which is that stoned wheat thins no longer exist?????? I have not been able to find them in a single grocery store for what feels like ages now and a quick google has proven this waking nightmare to be fact. RIP to the GOAT. Yes, the Whole Foods knockoff version lives on, but the loss of that iconic packaging is still a devastation too great to bear.
Ok and no #spon, but one thing that has softened that blow substantially this week was my going a little HAM at the Dossier Black Friday sale. But when I can purchase four copycat designer fragrances for the price of one bottle of my standard scent, how can you blame me? I’ve actually been on the hunt for a new fragrance for a minute now as I’ve been pretty much exclusively wearing the same YSL men’s cologne since I stole it from my friend Hayden in college (Hi, Durkey!). But now I feel I’m ready for something totally new, something radically more feminine, and I detest absolutely everything Sephora has on offer. I also can’t justify spending stupid money on some of the fancier bois the internet is obsessed with without at least smelling them in person first, a feat which for some reason NYC is trying to make increasingly impossible as it shutters every non-franchise store in existence. But in my digital hunt for perfume perfection I kept running into Dossier’s dupes, as well as their rave reviews, and at $17 a pop for many of them, I figured that was a blind buy risk I could afford to take. And man, I’m so glad I did. I can’t stop drenching myself in all of this stuff. Not a single flop in the bunch. Never in my life have I had this reaction to a perfume, but I sprayed one and yelled out loud, “OK, RICH!” And if Rihanna really does smell like this “Floral Marshmallow” copy of By Killian’s “Love Don’t Be Shy,” I fully get why people won’t stop talking about her scent now.
Other than those mini shopping sprees, I’ve just been spending a lot of time walking Fran around the neighborhood, trying to soak up these final days of dog park before it gets too snow-filled and cold for her to cavort about with her canine besties. I wish I had taken a video for you all of Fran and one such good boy yesterday running in circles so fast, for so long, they were actually forming a divot in their wake. Getting out there on the daily has also just been a good excuse to leave my home and enjoy the sunlight before being plunged back into pitch black darkness at 5pm all over again. I feel like this year’s SAD is already shaping up to be a brutal one for everybody. May our UV lamps bolster our spirits and our dopamine output through these very literally dark times.
And finally, I was really on one in Sloppy Seconds this week. Paid subs got an Amelia Hamlin fashion update (as they will once again next week), a treatise regarding the yonic pendants we have to look forward to on the red carpet, and an exploration on the future of leggings and Frankenstein brand licensing deals. As for next week’s regularly scheduled programming, I will likely be taking off from this Friday newsletter as, despite my best laid plans, I typically eat myself into a stupor on Thanksgiving. But then again, it really all depends on what paparazzi images cross my desk in the meantime and just how desperate my urge to share them with you becomes. However, if you are a paid subscriber, you will absolutely be hearing from me before the holidays because I have saved some truly elite content for your eyes only.
Ok, the hour is nigh!
First of all, we are BLESSED. Following the LeAnn Rimes tornado of one last week, Mother Nature is beaming down upon us once again, whipping up a tiny gale to temporarily blind Dakota Johnson with her own tresses. Or is that Cousin Itt making a Gucci-clad arrival at the function? We may never know the truth of that day, and that’s exactly how I like it.
There is much, much, much to complain about in Vogue’s new glowing editorial about the future Mr. and Mrs. Bezos (from which today’s lead newsletter image was pilfered). For one, what a transparent piece of propaganda for billionaires this whole thing is, to say nothing of the squandering of such unmitigated journalistic access to individuals who will be remembered in history books as two of the biggest villains of modernity. But my primary complaint, and something disgusting about rich people that we do not bring up enough to their faces, is how appallingly bad their taste is. Like I mentioned in regards to the Biebers’ art collection a couple of weeks ago, and as every single episode of Selling Sunset so perfectly demonstrates, it’s an unfortunate truth of life that the wealthiest amongst us also tend to be those with the absolute most garbage aesthetic sensibilities. And so when I read the above paragraph enumerating the gifts Lauren gave to the Vogue team after their shoot, I was disappointed, but hardy surprised. How tacky! How gauche! And not in a good way!!!!! Sure, being a bottomless pit of greed hellbent on sucking the world dry of its every resource is bad, but being a $167 billionaire with a lack of good taste to boot?! Now, that’s truly unforgivable.
I suppose we should also talk about Brian Cox’s taupe Aritzia patent leather specials which he paired with a “pitch-perfect” Gucci loafer, per GQ. I don’t think these two items of clothing even belong in the same room together, but I actually don’t think they’re the real problem with this outfit. Rather, that title belongs to the vast expanse of lily-white ankle on display here. It’s positively indecent! Longtime readers know I have a firm anti-male toe to mid-calf stance. It is lewd, and they need to cover it up. Put a sock on, you freaks. At the very least, all men need to be doing a sit test before pulling the trigger on a new pair of trousers because they should never transform into a capri upon repose.
Speaking of indecent exposure. That enemies-to-lovers movie that feels like it should’ve come out 6 months ago starring Glen Powell and Sydney Sweeney is finally coming out. And judging by the state of the press rollout, things are not boding well for Anyone But You. I kept it to myself last week, but I clocked that the two of them had once again posted a very cozy looking selfie together, I presume in the hopes of once again igniting those will-they, won’t-they rumors, and not a single outlet took the bait this go-around. And then, as many on Twitter have pointed out before me, Glen chose to bare both his butt cheeks for Men’s Health which unfortunately we all know is the telltale sign of a flop to come and a desperation to drum up ticket sales. Meanwhile, over in the complimentary issue of Women’s Health, Sydney Sweeney only got a singular bare cheek in profile on the page…..She’s going to need to start pulling her weight and create some sort of Instagram drama with her fiancé if we’re going to actually sell this thing.
I don’t care what anyone says about this debacle, this is the height of professionalism. Chris waited until the very next day after his Kardashians wedding episode aired to file for divorce. What restraint! What showmanship!!! A commitment to the art of reality television storycraft that honestly puts the rest of this family to shame. Now hopefully he can redirect some of that commitment to his other craft and style Kim’s hair in a way that actually corresponds to the outfit she’s wearing instead of just doing a sopping wet look for the ten millionth time..
Thank you. Finally. How is Chris Pine the only man in America who gets this. How many times must we thirst over Paul Mescal and Milo Ventimiglia’s micro gym shorts on social media before it gets through these thick skulls that all anyone is asking for is a 5” inseam. To put it in terms the menfolk might understand, as Pine said, “I mean, it’s a vibe. It’s the best vibe. It’s like a Tom Selleck vibe. It’s like [a] ‘70s surfer vibe. It's like Showtime — Lakers. Would you rather see them with the short shorts and Magic Johnson looking like a basketball player, an athlete, rather than wearing some sort of capri or something on the floor? No. So, I'll be wearing the short shorts.” In other words, time to sound the death knell for the dark ages of men’s nylon floods!
Absolutely. Indubitably. No one in the world is better at being braggadocios than Lil’ Kim. I believe her 10000%. This is a flex right up there with claiming you’re “the best thing since sliced bread,” and I would expect nothing less from my Queen Bitch, Supreme Bitch. Also, Lil Kim said this week that she’s considered making a coffee table book about her most iconic fashion moments and this is literally the only thing I’ve ever been specifically qualified to write. Someone please get me in touch with her team. We deserve this piece of couture gospel.
I also can’t believe that this is how I found out that Elizabeth Berkley is married to Greg Lauren. The star of my all-time favorite film bewed to the designer of my all-time favorite cut-and-sew hipster Ralph Lauren surplus brand. There’s also something incredibly gratifying to knowing that Greg really does wear those patchwork flannel kimonos in his private life.
The big hubbub in nepo baby world this week was of course that Deacon Phillippe, the progeny of Reese Witherspoon and Ryan Phillippe, gave a TikTok tour of his multi-million dollar West Village apartment while also refusing to say how much his parents actually pay for him to live there (“West Village prices”). I do think that the very least rich people can do is be transparent about how much they spend on things like this. Inquiring minds want to know how bad you are with money! Also, I understand that this rich kid playground fantasyland is the experience of far too many people who live in this city, but I do think it should be the law that if you want to be a New Yorker so badly, you have to do at least two years of penance by living in the worst slumlord-managed building with too many Craigslist roommates and too many roaches. I feel this is an important hazing ritual in order to understand the true spirit of the metropolis.
In other news of rich people not knowing how good they have it, this week, Louis Theroux released an interview with Pete Doherty in which we discover that he’s kept one of Kate Moss’s custom Asprey suitcases, and then in the same breath proves why he is nowhere near cool enough to own said object. In the clip, Pete says, “When I opened it, ‘do not touch.’ It is quite a strange thing to have on your suitcase.” And then Louis says, “Especially inside your suitcase. By the time you've got it open, it's too late.”………listen, if you don’t get it, you don’t get it. Cool is something you just know on sight. It’s not about practicality or logic, it’s a feeling. It’s a “vibe,” as Chris Pine would say. And this is like everything Off-White has ever aspired to do a decade before the brand was even a twinkle in Virgil’s eye. Now, I’m going to need Pete to give this suitcase back to Kate as it is clearly well above his It-girl pay grade.
On a very different note, I feel like Travie Kelce’s old tweets were dug up in part to embarrass him, but with each new one I see I honestly like him exponentially more. I’m with him. Who doesn’t want to vibe to the “scenary” under some crazy moonlight. And my god, did you see the America one before it got deleted?? The man’s making some points! Plus, his inability to spell the word squirrel kicked off a bad faith Twitter discourse like I haven’t seen in EONS. Some Zoomer troll accused Taylor of grooming Travis because he must have such bad CTE he has the mental capacity of a child. Regardless of the fact that they were almost certainly just outrage baiting, even coming up with such a premise is still some phenomenal brainworm stuff. That is the type of fresh and hot dumb opinion that takes me straight back to the glory days of Twitter. A true Tay-vis miracle.
Now, on the other hand, this little not-so-candid photo shoot was very troubling to me. Not the staged paparazzo moment itself, but rather the public’s reaction to it. Because if we can’t recognize an incredibly obvious unmarked ad designed to sell us a head-to-toe Bottega Veneta outfit when we see one, what hope do we have as a society. Like we need to be fighting a war against deepfakes and we’re still out here praising multi-million dollar ad campaigns like they’re authentic street style and arguing about photoshop fails. Everything you see has been retouched. Everything you see is bought and paid for by a brand. Especially when it comes to this family. Let’s just get that straight so we can move on to more complicated subjects already. I’m tired of having to reiterate the same basic facts about how celebrity functions. This is like when people get heated over a $20K bag or whatever that was gifted to the celebrity to begin with because the free promotion they generate is worth wellllll over that amount. Time to get hip to the grift, everyone.
North, however, has proven to be a surprisingly quick study to this fame game. After dressing up as Kanye’s Graduation Bear for Halloween, she’s now cosplaying as her mom circa 2006 with a random friend playing the role of Paris Hilton. An interesting twist on the real tabloid history as we all know Kim was actually Paris’s deeply non-famous assistant at the time this particular photo was taken, but in this retelling of the narrative via North she becomes the protagonist. North once again becomes the vehicle through which her parents’ fame is rewritten and synthesized into a tidier narrative of A-list inevitability.
Also, in regards to this lemonade stand story, what happened to telling charming anecdotes? Let’s go back to that. Because Kim really blew up North’s spot here. She’s not just scamming their neighbors, she’s literally pulling $20 bill out of their hands and being like, “Sorry, no change.” And she does this for hours, every single day. But while this story doesn’t make North sound great, it mostly just makes me extremely sad for all of the adults she is surrounded by that they’re allowing themselves to be bullied like this by a 10 year old. But at the same time, after hearing North’s scathing, and completely accurate, critique of Kim’s Met Gala dress, they clearly do need to start taking her direction.
I also just love that Kourtney got her husband’s birthday fully sponsored by her friend Addison Rae’s movie. And I extra love that the majority of tabloids did not catch on to the spon con going on here in the slightest so they just called it an early Thanksgiving birthday dinner with no reference to the film. But anyway, we’ll be getting more into Kravis, Addison, and the latter’s pivot to slasher film starlet in next week’s Sloppy Seconds.
As always, I am attempting to see the good in the different patterns and silhouettes of Balenciaga looks Kim has been wearing lately, even if it all boils down to the same essential elements over and over and over again. But that said, I truly do not understand the edits that were made here from how this dress originally appeared on the runway. First of all, Kim eradicated the most fun thing about this look, which was the cartoonishly rounded shoulders, and in doing so turned it into any old dress. Also the color of this nude unitard and matching boot underneath………what color does she think her skin is? This is so radically lighter than what went down the runway, and still nothing close to her spray-tanned flesh tone. Just the perfect shade of nude to wash her out completely for no reason. Why. Also, where is the styling? What does Dani Michelle do exactly besides make choices that undermine anything fashionable and interesting going on here to begin with? Whatever, Tracy Turnblad did it better anyway.
And people really lost their shit over this GQ “Man of the Year” cover for a whole lot of reasons I do not personally understand. I’m about to talk more about this in a second down below, but I do worry that the speed of everything in media is catching up with us because no one seems to remember anything anymore. We are turning into a goldfish-brained society. Because people were OUTRAGED that they gave her this title as a woman, despite the fact that GQ chooses a woman every single year for one of these covers to accompany the ones they do featuring male celebs……alarming that no one seems to remember that!
As for the Dash t-shirt, are we really surprised that a woman who has hoarded everything she’s ever worn and catalogs it like it’s the Met Costume Institute might have a spare one of these lying around? Besides, as we’ve seen repeatedly in this newsletter, Kim loves her own iconography and anything that reinforces her brand. More interesting to me is that she’s reached a status in the fashion world where she now feels secure enough to even reference her mid-range boutique past and reclaim it from this newfound position of power that is the GQ centerfold. I wish she would lean more into that camp-ness of where she came from fashion-wise and find a way to fuse it with her current style. Time to reintegrate the shearling-lined Louis Vuitton bag. Break out the Louboutin suede platform booties Kanye made you throw away!!!
And to conclude today’s Kardashiain Korner and further drive home my point from last week, it’s POP QUIZ TIME: Dolce & Gabbana or Skims x Swarovski?
As we wind down here, I thought I’d share that I loved Margot Robbie in this Schiaparelli gown. But that said, I would also just like to point out that Cardi did it first, and I did not hear a peep from fashion Twitter about it back then….But as I said the first time around, the more trompe l’oeil belly button piercings the merrier. Navel ring illusions for everyone. As for the people tweeting about Margot finally being freed from her Chanel contract…….I’m going to need everyone to keep up, or shut up. But truly, as I mentioned above, it’s moments like these that make me worried about our collective short-term memory. Am I suddenly the only woman in America who recalls that week-long wardrobe blitz before the actors’ strike hit? Those perfectly reproduced vintage Barbie outfits custom made by a slew of high-end designers? The Bottega Veneta at the Governors Awards??? I understand that it’s not everyone’s job to look at famous people’s clothing every day, but we do need to cultivate some form of cultural object permanence because this observational merry-go-round is getting stale.
This is an emergency. A five-alarm fire. A red alert. Just when I think this man has tap-danced on my final nerve until it snapped, he steps out in a pant silhouette that couldn’t be dumber if he tried. How many times do you think Drake tripped on this hem? This might be the first pant leg in history that’s ended mid-arch. This is some serious Justin Bieber business if I’ve ever seen it. This man gambles away millions of dollars in crypto every single day on Stake dot com (a website that is almost certainly illegal, and I don’t know why no one has written an exposé about it) and yet can’t manage to employ a single tailor. Ok.
Anyway, before I vamoose, I just wanted to do one more teeny-tiny plug for the type of stuff you’re missing out on when you do not subscribe to Sloppy Seconds, and that is the latest and greatest in Mess trend spotting, which also means basically every photo of Rita Ora that’s ever been published. But I’ll share one with you that came out this week as she wore an ensemble to Leo’s birthday party that resonates with a fun new frontier of nudity we’ve been discussing in that newsletter, which is dresses so insanely short they’re actually tops leaving the underwear fully revealed. A look that I’m actually shocked didn’t come to fruition when everyone was wearing those Diesel and Miu Miu micro skirts that are basically the width of a belt from 2006. Instead of the whale tale, this is the whale belly — an interesting means of infusing the underwear as outerwear trend with a touch of the thrill of a wardrobe malfunction
And in next week’s edition of Sloppy Seconds, we have an insane amount of things to discuss, including the hottest new craze sweeping the nation — famous people sticking their hands in their beloveds’ asses on camera. So, please make sure to sign up for that to get your Mess fix before Thanksgiving, otherwise I’ll see you all in two weeks!
Because much like Alexandra Daddario’s lipstick, I gotta get out of here! Bye!!!
Gobble, gobble. You’ve officially gorged yourself on the cornucopia of glamour that is Mess’s Friday edition. But as I can tell by your pilgrim garb that you’ve been truly possessed by the spirit of the giving season, why not give yourself the gift of signing up for a paid subscription and then extending that sense of gratitude for slop by signing up your nearest and dearest for a free subscription as well. If your bonus funds are feeling a little tight as we head into the holidays, you can always enroll in the ~MESS DISCORD~ totally gratis where almost 700 Messketeers are more than ready to share a hearty meal of gossip with you all. And since you’re bound to spill some gravy all over your finest family dinner attire, why not stock up on some MESS MERCH to change into later.
As always, if you can’t afford to pay for more, just ask me about getting a comped subscription. I promise, it’s no big deal. I do it all the time. And if you send over a screenshot of your donation to any abortion or bail fund, your next month of Mess is on me.
Now, git along, little doggies!