Hiya besties!
It’s been a chaotic week here at Mess HQ, to say the least. As I informed Sloppy Seconds readers on Wednesday, not only did I violently stub my toe — something that hasn’t happened in I don’t even know how long — but I had a very wild 24-hour shoulder spasm that arrived as mysteriously as it left. And no sooner did I hit send on that email chronicling these ailments than the handle on the faucet in my bathroom came off sending a geyser of water shooting into the air that flooded the whole room, including a number of my beauty products contained within. And then, of course, all of that water also caused water damage to the ceiling below. Everything in me and around me seems to be going just a little bit haywire, and it’s making me wonder if there’s some planet I should be blaming for all of this?
When not grappling against the forces of entropy, I went to Film Forum to see Purple Noon and ooo, baby. As I think every time I see a movie there, I really don’t know why I don’t go more often. It’s the best and reminds me of the weird arthouse theater I went to in New Hampshire growing up. For those who don’t know, Purple Noon is the original 1960 French adaptation of The Talented Mr. Ripley, and The Talented Mr. Ripley has been an absolute obsession of mine since I watched it a couple of years back. It’s simply a perfect film. As is this version which my dad has been urging me to watch ever since this fixation began, and now I totally get why. The audience literally gasped at the twist ending even though we all knew it was coming. And Alain Delon is perfect in that he is at his peak hotness in this film. I guess this means I have no choice but to read the Patricia Highsmith novel now and bring this preoccupation full circle. I already tried watching a couple episodes of the Netflix show Ripley, but to no avail despite how much I love Andrew Scott. Anyway, watching the trailers for this Delon retrospective also made me realize that I’ve accidentally become a Delon super fan??? Because I’m pretty sure the last two movies I saw at Film Forum before this one were La Piscine and Mr. Klein……oops, what can I say. The French cinema buff in me will never die. But if you do get the chance to watch Mr. Klein in particular, I highly recommend it. I went in not really knowing what it was all about and was taken on a harrowing journey!
Speaking of harrowing, this week I also binge watched all of Little Reindeer which was extremely good and also disturbing in a way I couldn’t have possibly anticipated. Like I recommend it and yet I am absolutely haunted by it and will remain vaguely disturbed by the things that transpired in those seven episodes for years to come. Content aside, I was also just very taken with the way it’s written and the way this man’s story unpacks itself. The fact that it’s based on a true story is something I can’t even begin to address.
Ok but this isn’t a media recommendation newsletter, so my final endorsement is just that you should sign up to receive Sloppy Seconds immediately because we are discussing all of the most pressing topics of today in that email. For one, I caught everyone up to speed on the latest JoJo Siwa drama and how she has fully gotten her comeuppance thanks to a 38-year-old woman. We picked apart some of the most thought-provoking attire at Coachella weekend one, worn by the likes of Barry Keoghan and Yannik Zamboni. And we even meandered into a conversation on Lizzo’s current PR tactic and Drake’s plastic surgery denial. If you’re ready to dive deep into some premium gossip, go on and grab yourself a ‘scription.
And if you are looking for a non-screen activity with which to amuse yourself, here’s your friendly reminder to buy a ticket to the Met Gala watch party at Caveat where I will be shrewdly judging and analyzing every garment IRL.
Ok then, I guess!!!!!
Once again, 2024 is proving to be the year everything is turning up Mess. The court of popular fashion and pop culture opinion has suddenly swung in my favor. The merkins! The Black Tape Project! The butt crack of it all! And now, my queen, the inimitable Cathy Horyn, has published a review of Taylor Swift’s attire in The Cut that beautifully and masterfully articulates everything I have been incoherently screaming at you about in this email for years. An unbelievably reaffirming moment for my little celebrity fashion conspiracy theory brain. I’m also fascinated by all the people commenting that this reading is somehow misogynistic, or Taylor’s “just wearing what she likes.” Because, first of all, talking about a famous woman’s clothing is not inherently sexist. Seriously examining a pop star’s deliberate choices in attire and analyzing what the intended impact of those choices is upon her audience and how it fits within the larger scope of her brand is a legitimate and important line of inquiry. And the idea that this billionaire is just expressing her personal style and that personal style happens to take the form of mid-range mall brands is to grossly misunderstand the nature of celebrity dressing and the orchestration actually involved not only in the creation of every outfit, but every paparazzi photo taken of those outfits. Besides, are we not talking about the same woman who supposedly plants infinite Easter eggs in every image and song, making her fans plumb the depths of her lyrics for subtextual clues that they then string together in a Q Anon-esque fashion? So which is it…….Is Taylor some sort of brilliant, all-controlling riddle master or is she just a teen girl shopping at The Grove? Why is this the one aspect of her life people can’t seem to believe might be deliberate. Liking something does not preclude that thing from also being an act of branding.
Now something I could not have possibly foretold happening in 2024 is JoJo Siwa and Lil Tay beefing. What’s happening. What timeline are we living in…..There is no way in hell Siwa wants this smoke. I mean, I know Tay’s whole internet persona is a viral grift invented by her family, but she still seems like someone a former child star from the series Dance Moms might not want to get embroiled in an altercation with. This is also a rookie mistake on JoJo’s part to like a tweet shading Tay thus providing her, a more minor celeb, a bigger platform and a reason for the press to put both their names in conversation. I was actually just thinking about that PR tactic this week because I was reading a thread of some of Rihanna’s greatest Twitter clapbacks, and when she and Teyana Taylor were fighting she brilliantly tweeted, “I REFUSE to help your career…you will NOT get an @ from me! Not til you pay me! #nomorefreepromo #iRefuse” and then followed that up with “I hate broke bitches.” Masterfully done! Although I think Tay and JoJo should hurry up and bury the hatchet already as I feel like they could make some mutually beneficial pop music together. As we discussed at length in Sloppy Seconds, it seems like they could also really bond over their emotionally abusive stage parents.
But it’s not just JoJo and Tay squabbling — all the girls are fighting!!!! I feel like it really started this week with Keith McNally going in on Lauren Sánchez’s appearance inspiring every random celebrity to jump into his Instagram comments to defend her honor. Why anyone cares what this New York restaurateur has to say about the matter beats me, especially considering he is a massive troll, desperate for attention, and a Woody Allen/Johnny Depp apologist, but ok. I’m more interested in the people who believe that we should never speak badly about or hurt the feelings of a $200 billionaire, as though Keith’s misogynistic take will have absolutely any impact on anything at all. Because while I think he critiqued her in the dumbest way possible, I also feel like the only weapon we have against the uber wealthy is our ability to hurl insults and bully, to make their otherwise grotesquely cushy lives as marginally uncomfortable as we possibly can. And millionaires and aspiring millionaires policing that ability only aids the .01% in whitewashing how evil their wealth hoarding existence actually is by giving it a veneer of public approval. I think we can do it in a much smarter, more devastating way than telling Lauren her plastic surgery looks bad, but the sentiment is right on.
Anyway, less righteously, that post seemed to kick off a whole spree of pointless infighting in Hollywood. Are they actively going after the headlines or is this just what happens when you let boomers ramble on the record? None of it is very nice, but much like the feud currently raging in hip-hop, it is the most exciting thing famous people have done in ages. I do think we’d all have a lot more fun with fame if everybody stopped following their PR teams’ advice to play nice and started being a little more real about the celebs getting on their last nerve. I mean, look how well it’s worked out for Dakota Johnson!
Now, why in the world is this woman trying to sell me limited edition jams under a brand that sounds like something Brandy Melville would name its perfume (Yes, I did just watch the doc). What makes a former Duchess and Suits star the expert in strawberry preserves. I already have one Bonne Maman in my life. I know that these two have to eke out a living now that they’ve self-exiled and their Netflix/Spotify/publishing deals all flopped, but why does every one of their business ventures have to come at my expense. Why do they always rely on taking my money to pay the mortgage on that Montecito manse. This isn’t the UK, babes. In fact, I’m pretty sure we already dumped a bunch of perfectly good tea in the ocean to make this point about the monarchy taking our hard-earned cash once before. And just because you’re now monarchy-adjacent, don’t expect America to suddenly change its tune on the matter. Besides, this is what corporations are for! Do a couple of speaking gigs with Spotify, curate something boring with Amazon, or get back to acting already and leave us and our toast out of it!!!!
Now moving on to something actually aspirational — we’ve got labia. Or, at least, photo-printed labia. And of course it’s Julia Fox giving it to us after being the first to threaten to do so in that chastity cage last September. Do I like it? No. Not at all. But seeing my worst fashion predictions come to life will never not give me a certain thrill. I do think it was very clever of her to go with the harry chest version of this trompe l’oeil nipple as a means of bypassing Instagram’s nudity policies and guaranteeing that this image will be able to be freely shared across social media. I also think the zipper is a playful and disturbing vagina dentata touch. And the fake lower FUPA tattoo is a good reminder that we still aren’t doing nearly enough with vajazzling, tramp stamps, and the like in this renewed era of low-rise. Is this outfit the great feminist statement many publications were making it out to be? Not particularly, but it is a great statement for getting a lot of attention and now that Julia’s opened the proverbial flood gates on this exposed nether regions style, I look forward to seeing who will be next to follow her lead.
My guess is Doja Cat, who already gave us full bush beneath a sheer, areola-exposing gown at the Grammys anyway. She also delivered an incredible performance at Coachella this weekend and I could spend an entire edition of this newsletter pouring over every outfit featured therein. But this quiet luxury caveman fit spoke to me in particular as I couldn’t help but see the merkin influence on these pubic bikini briefs. Once again, a creative way to gesture towards full-frontal nudity without having to actually go XXX. Now, just imagine this layered under one of those see-through Saint Laurent dresses everyone in Hollywood can’t stop wearing! This stage look also tied in to a broader fur trend going on at Coachella this year, as exemplified here by model Leomie Anderson. Every one and their mom brought their fuzziest attire to the desert and it makes a certain amount of sense given how outrageously popular fur coats were throughout what was just the hottest winter on record. And while that already felt a touch dystopian, seeing the fabric now applied to bikinis, boots, and loin clothes feels downright Mad Max. A suitable reference point for a world quickly devolving into Fury Road.
After helping blaze the trail for exposed intergluteal clefts everywhere, Chloe Bailey returned to the Coachella stage with some additional ideas for how to inventively expose one’s erogenous zones. This time framing the pubic region with lace-up cutouts and using the same technique to section off the cheeks into quadrants. She also dipped into one of my fav, and oft overlooked, aesthetics which is that of an off-duty knight in their business casual chain mail. A style that has been simmering on the back burner of my brain ever since Balenciaga brought those chevalier boots into the conversation.
And, as I already spoke about in Sloppy Seconds, week after week Katy Perry has been leaning into her pop star relaunch, teasing a forthcoming album only to be met with crickets from the general public. But I appreciate her following the Mess playbook so closely during this promotion cycle with the butt cracks, the nudity, the scarification, and even pulling a Julia Fox for Velveeta at the Breakthrough Prize Awards. And then, this week, while promoting American Idol she debuted this custom sculptural metal top by Kate Barton. I personally prefer these IRL AI renderings to be a touch on the gloopier, molten side of things, but I’ll take it! A trend prediction win is a trend prediction win. But honestly, she’s following the specific dressing formulas I’ve set out in this newsletter so closely, it’s starting to get a little spooky. Katy, if you’re such a I <3 Mess stan, go on and say it with your chest (or at least some merch)!
Now, this has got to be my favorite thing that happened all week. For some reason, Ashlee Simpson Ross and her husband Evan Ross decided to pay for their trip to Coachella by doing an ad for what are perhaps the ugliest shoes ever created, a greige collaborative rain boot between Crocs and Pringles. Aside from these being the oddest choice in celebrity to sell me a piece of meme footwear, why are Ashlee and Evan doing spon con in the first place……..you’re telling me the Diana Ross empire can no longer support them? Tracee couldn’t have swung two VIP festival passes? Perhaps this is the millennial in me showing, but I feel like the residuals from the masterpiece that is Autobiography alone should be fully funding these two’s lifestyle. Regardless, I’m not mad at the idea of an ankle holster for my Pringles tubes, I just wish brands would stop doing this stuff in a jokey way and start doing it in a comically refined, elevated capacity, like Moschino’s take on McDonald’s. Why can’t I have a gorgeous leather chip tube holster that integrates seamlessly into my Balenciaga pantashoes? A Chanel micro-clutch containing a singular french fry in case of emergency?
And if Pringles was my fav, then this dress worn by Riley Keough was easily my most distressing. I know my shit-talking of this brand is overly well-trod territory at this point, but the depths of ugly to which Chanel will stoop never fails to surprise me. This tweed looks like upholstery ripped from the set of That 70s Show, but even that design choice pails in comparison to the tragedy of these deflated sleeve poufs. And the boob pockets just feel like a low blow. I really think Chanel cannot help itself. It has to antagonize. It has to make things needlessly worse when the brand really could just be coasting along on tweeds and little shift dresses for the rest of eternity. But all that said, I do feel like this dress would’ve killed in 2012. The twee homesteader girlies would’ve ate this frock up.
And then suddenly Dior decided to enter the chat this week and give Chanel a run for its money in the spokesmodel punishment department. The cropped, hooded denim jacket with Dior-logo printed lining is one thing, but making Diane Kruger wear that AND tuck her tie into her pants??? Lock them up.
Finally, and most importantly, I must share with you this image of Usher’s inflatable hat. I love it. It makes his cranium look both petite and huge all at once, like a bobblehead of Caillou. It’s like the @itsmaysmemes account on Instagram come to life. Again, a blurring of the line between digital and physical that seems like a rich text for us to mine style-wise!!!
Ok well, now that I’ve drenched you in my silly opinions for the last twenty minutes like Salma Hayek’s family spraying her down with the hose mid thirst trap, it’s time for me to collect my things and go. If you’ve even vaguely enjoyed what you read here today, please consider supporting this endeavor by becoming a paid subscriber.
I’ll see you again next Friday! Bye, friends!
Nota bene:
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I gotta go!