I see in today's news that investors want to oust Dillard's management. I take no responsibility for this.

However, here is a Dillard's disaster that has been sitting on my desk waiting for attention. This poor girl appears to have collapsed under the weight of her over-accessorization. I think the watch attached to her purse might have been the last straw.



I have lots more to say about lots of things but I'm trying to catch up after a week away from my desk. Please stay tuned. The goddam shoe wheel will make another appearance and things will get psychological again. But for the moment, I am dealing with Cream of Wheat brain. It happens sometimes.

P.S. My new ambition in life is to "go rogue."

Labels: advertising, dillard's, fashion

Tom husband is very supportive of my work. I'm traveling and busy this week, but he wanted to help insure that the high quality of my blog is maintained, so when he opened his morning paper and saw this, he rushed it to me immediately.


Where this goes wrong is with the strange glowing thighs and the way her hands are strategically placed to mask/draw attention to her childbearing hips. Which actually appear to be smaller than they appear.

Labels: advertising, dillard's

Among my many neuroses about which I "enjoy" ruminating is dread.

For example: I gave a speech about my Yankee Chick book this week to a local newcomers group. I have given dozens of speeches on the topic in the seven years since the book was released and I’m actually pretty good at it.

When I first started promoting the book, I simply decided not to be nervous about speaking in public. Most people under most circumstances, when they come to a program like the ones I give, are there with every intention of having fun. These audiences are mine to lose and seeming awkward and anxious is a good way to lose them. So when I step up to a lectern, I banish all anxiety and have fun through sheer force of will.

Of course, I have had some clunker experiences. There was a reading I did for book club that met in a noisy bar. I had to bellow over the racket and I still don’t think everyone heard me. Nobody had fun that night.

Then there was the time I was invited to speak at a community college. The room was full, which was great, but it was an unnervingly deadpan audience. No matter how hilarious I tried to be, I got blank stares in return. When I finally, finally, finally wrapped it up—the longest 45 minutes in history—I found out that my audience was mostly ESL students who had been required to attend.

Some sort of cruel joke?

So anyway, I suppose I have some reason to be nervous about an approaching speech. But nervous doesn’t do justice to the intense feeling of dread I experience as a speech day approaches.

I usually am booked for these things months in advance. When it’s four months away, Sure! Happy to do it! The closer it gets, the more onerous it seems. By the night before a speech, I feel like I’m preparing to face a firing squad.

Once I’m in front of the audience everything is fine (provided my audience speaks English), but what a lot of energy I waste on dread up until that point.

Today, my dread is about a trip to Arizona next week. It’s going to be a great trip, but it requires waking up early a couple of days. One day, I have to be up, dressed, packed and checked out of the hotel by no later than 6:45 a.m. And my flight home at the end of the week is at the appalling hour of 5 a.m. (Using frequent flier miles is getting harder and harder these days.) This means I’ll have to be out of the hotel at about 4 a.m.

I know, I know. Not a big deal. In fact, it’s a pretty small deal. A miniscule deal. Not really a deal at all. So I wake up early--so what? I rarely oversleep, so I’m not afraid of that. I’m just dreading… what? Feeling tired? Having bad hair? Missing an hour of sleep? I can’t figure it out and yet this dread is palpable and it will increase as those days get closer.

Strange.

***

OK, I know you can’t face your weekend without your Dillard’s fix. And here she is. Twice.



Tom sez: “Ooh, which one is worse?” Good question, although the one in the foreground appears painfully crammed into her confusing outfit so my vote goes there.

Oh, and BTW, I got a call from the National Enquirer this week. They are hot on the trail of the Dr. Phil/Robin story. Evidently, they have evidence that the couple is living separately and they are seeking sources to confirm. We can only hope this big news will knock Joe the Plumber out of the headlines because I, for one, am sick to death of him.

Labels: dillard's, dr. phil, memoir

I don't even know how to mock this.

Labels: dillard's, fashion, shopping

Dillard's could have the same impact if it simply ran an ad that said, "Dillard's. We're a department store and we sell stuff" as it does with this sad sack selection.

If you are morally opposed to advertising (and aren't we all, just a little?) and its calculated ability to make you crave things you don't need, then you must applaud Dillard's. I feel no pangs of deprivation when I look at this ad. Mostly, I think, "Hey, I have nicer stuff than that."

Perhaps Dillard's is positioning itself as shopping for the non-aspirational. Perhaps in solidarity with that anti-consumerist message, I should now shop only Dillard's. But I already have a hoodie and jeans.

I actually have a friend who shops the Dillard's sales racks frequently and always comes up with cute stuff. But I'm just fascinated, and bumfuzzled, by their marketing plan.

Labels: advertising, dillard's

Pardon my lousy mood. I’ll try to keep it to myself and just toss a little cheery flotsam your way.

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Cute Overload has a particularly great post today--check out the Prairie Dog smash-ups, here. Sound necessary. Some people have magical talents.

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If I dug a hole in my backyard straight through the other side of the Earth, I would emerge in the middle of the Indian Ocean. Which doesn’t sound like a lot of fun. How do I know this? Worldhum turned me on to the cool and essentially useless Google Tunneling Tool. Just because. Beats working.

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New model, same depressing style…



Evidently, there’s a small anti-Dillard’s movement brewing. Stockholders aren’t happy. Here’s a blogful of complaints. Evidently women don’t want to dress like Opal Pickles.

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Speaking of fashion, if you’re a fan of The Sartorialist then check out the senior version, Advanced Style. The text can be patronizing at times but the intentions are good and the styles range from inspiring to merely impressively audacious.

The video below comes to us via Advanced Style and this lady rocks.



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Another well-informed voter unleashes her ire on Charles Gibson’s glasses.



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You can tell I reported this story about visiting the fabulous Best Friends Animal Sanctuary a long time ago, because l'il ZsaZsa (RIP) makes an appearance in the lede. But I'm glad the story has finally made it into print.

And here's a story about my most recent glamorous trip, to the Choctaw Casino in Durant, OK. Actually, we had a pretty good time. Oklahoma good.

**

OK, let’s all cheer up, because the renewed mind is the key. This is a must-watch, coming to me via my kooky friends at the United Methodist Reporter (via Best TV Week Ever). Warning: Earworm ahead.

Labels: advertising, dillard's, fashion, humor, politics, travel

You know, Dillard's does have some OK clothes in their ads sometimes. But never, never on this poor woman. This model must be toting some pretty terrible karma because she is only photographed in the most unfortunate outfits. What did you do to Dillards, poor MILF-lady?

Labels: advertising, dillard's, fashion

I think it was in Jezebel, which has best and worst dressed lists, that a writer dismissed capris as if everyone knows that capris are stupid and there is no argument about it.

I have some capris and naturally felt dissed. And then, instead of beating them up about it (in my mind), I decided it would be more fun to join ‘em and declare myself an arbiter of all that is acceptable and all that is not.

I’ll take a page from Tom’s book. He long ago declared shorts on stage (on male musicians, that is) are unacceptable, period. He has insisted on this for so long that I must agree. You cannot rock and roll with your hairy legs showing. Don’t do it. If you can’t deal with sweating in jeans, you're too sissy to rock.

In that spirit, I have decided that big, plastic earrings are unacceptable. No, don’t argue, there is nothing to discuss. So it is said and so it shall be.

Big white plastic earrings with a bathing suit? Beneath discussion.


I’ll be back with more proclamations as they occur to me.

Labels: dillard's, fashion

Here’s our happy multiple mom again, from today’s paper. She’s still silly but the bathing suits in this ad aren’t hideous and I’ve grown accustomed to her face and her easy-care hair.

Turn the page and…. (cue music from Psycho shower scene)


My god! This poor child! Feed her! Get her out of those Devil Shoes! For god’s sake, at least let her grow up a few years before you put her through this. Look at this sweet little girl face.

Yeah, yeah. Fashionistas are rolling their eyes at me—so gauche to complain about skinny underage models. But this photo gives me the willies.

Here, a young Dallas model discusses her bout with eating disorders. I wanted to cry and throw up reading that one casting director for Paris fashion week told her, "You're turning into a woman, and your body is changing. You need to learn to control that."

I know women are supposed to be inspired to shop by imagining they look younger, slimmer and sexier than they are, but this can go too far. Even when fashion photos aren’t quite as disturbing as this one, I’m not dumb enough to imagine I’ll ever look like a 14-year-old dressed as a grown up. I wouldn’t want to, anyway.

I had a similar thought while working out the other day to a Crunch DVD. All those pretty, perky and extremely buff women were supposed to inspire me but that was not the effect they had. I wished for someone I could relate to, someone who was a little bit older, a little bit curvier, a little bit imperfect but fit. I wasn’t discouraged by the sight of all those sexy sixpacks, but with them on the TV screen, my reflection in the mirror was kind of depressing. One reason Richard Simmons workouts are so much fun is because he has people of all sizes Sweatin' to the Oldies. To me, that’s much more inspiring than a chorus line of women who clearly dedicate their lives to their buns and abs. They only makes me feel that what I can do is not enough and never will be.

Labels: advertising, dillard's, fashion, feminism, personal growth

Dillard's--The message: Don't have sex, don't want it. Call me Mrs. Pickles.



Macy's perfume ad--The message: I am a pain in the ass (times three) at the very least, and possibly insane. Don't have sex, don't want it. Prefer hanging around gay men.

Labels: advertising, dillard's, macy's, women