say NO to the dress: why paying the rent should be a bigger priority than feeling like a princess.

anybody who follows me on twitter knows that i’ve been watching A LOT Of say yes to the dress (there are 78 episodes on netflix instant!). the thing is, it’s a TERRIBLE show. like the worst possible people that you can imagine whining, and crying, and hissy fitting all over the store until some poor frazzled family member agrees to spend $11,000 on a skin tight cacophony of beads, lace, tulle, crystals and bad taste (don’t even get me started on the whore-bride trend…). this dress will invariably made by a woman named pnina tornai. this woman must be stopped. but again, that’s a conversation for another day…

i can’t seem to stop myself from watching the show, but with each subsequent viewing, i become more and more furious.

as you will learn shortly, there are actually only 2 kinds of brides that shop at kleinfeld. they are both equally revolting. 

chasing the white whale.

so a while ago, you might have noticed a little red box pop up on the sidebar region right over there –> this box was gently urging you to consider nominating broke207 for the portland phoenix best of 2011 poll. now, i am not a particularly competitive person by nature (unless of course we’re playing scrabble, in which case I WILL CUT YOU), but all the nominees get to go to pretty kick ass party… and i do enjoy a good time.

now, you might have noticed that the red box has magically morphed into a blue box. this is not magic, nor is it the talents of my hard working special effects team… but yesterday i found out that i actually GOT NOMINATED. i almost peed all over myself at work. sure, i put up the red box (hello, PARTY), and i threw down a facebook post about it… but i really didn’t expect anyone to actually vote for me.

now don’t worry, i’m not gonna get all faux humble on your ass or anything. i’m just really surprised, and really excited, and really grateful. so if you clicked on that box in the last few weeks, thank you. thank you a bunch.

well, i’m not gonna do that thing where i tell you that you have to vote for me, but i would really like it if you voted period. the other nominees for best blog are pretty fucking fantastic, and totally worthy of your support. you can find all of them in my blogroll also over there —-> but for the sake of ease in pointing and clicking, here they are:

an open letter to zak posen.

so after a big shopping binge at old navy’s 30% off everything sale (don’t ask), i took a mosey across the street to target to see if there was anything amazing hidden in the sale racks. i was hoping to find this amazing mustard colored halter dress by jean paul gaultier in a size that i could squish my ultrachunk into, but sadly was confronted only with a rackful of 1s, 3s, & 5s. i don’t think my skeleton is a size 5. maybe if i removed some ribs…

disappointment aside, i was also excited to check out the new zak posen stuff that arrived in stores last week.  can you say shock and awe? awe at a few of the really glorious pieces that i found dangling from the racks (golden cocktail dress!), and shock at both the sticker prices of these garments (um $74.99!? dude, it’s still TARGET), and shock at some of the most truly truly awful things i have ever seen anywhere ever. case and point, the shirt in the above picture. in case the design flaws are too subtle for your untrained eyes, i have taken the liberty of pointing out the most egregious of the offenses:

1. vomitesque black & pink tie dye background. (tie dye, really?)

2. gently askew bedazzled zac! logo. (additional points off for worst possible font choice)

3. contrast baseball sleeves circa 1993.

it’s like he designed a few nice looking pieces in his normal style, and then thought “hey, what kinds of tacky-ass low-classwear will appeal to target shoppers?” do you really think so little of us mr. posen? that maybe if you just slap a glitter logo on a baby tee, we’ll eat it right the hell up? well, let me say for the record that just because i can’t afford to buy your regular line (and other similarly priced high end fuckery), does not mean that i’m a style-less, classless tramp, sucking down a big gulp and yammering about “gettin my hair did” (sorry britney, i know you probably love this shirt). in short, being cheap doesn’t make me cheap. and frankly, i find the whole situation a little insulting.

mr. posen, i’ll be waiting for your apology.