As Summer Draws To A Close...

The upcoming weekend is Labor Day, the signal for back-to-school and the end of summer. As a salute to my least favorite season (the sweating!), I think it's time to do a little "Don't Be a Slave to Fashion!" recap. There's a reason that every company sends out the dress code reminder at the beginning of June... there are a lot of pitfalls in summer clothing options.

Below are the top trends from this summer that I just can't get over, and after working at various street festivals all summer long, I couldn't get away from.

First up... shoes!

I'm not a huge fan of the Gladiator sandal, though (perhaps through sheer overexposure) I have acknowledged they have a place in the world. But this type of shoe, (this particular one is the BCBGeneration Kija)... I just don't get it. Is it a boot? Is it a sandal? Does it make your ankle sweat? I implore you, ladies, think of the tan lines!

While we're at it with the feet:

Legwarmers/Kneehighs with sandals/clogs/any footwear and shorts/skirts/etc. is wrong. I thought we finally all agreed to this. Have we not, for generations, been discussing the faux pas of our fathers and grandfathers wearing sandals with socks? Let's not confuse things here. When it comes to it, I suppose I'd rather you wear the boot/sandal monster above than this look.

From bottom to top:

One of the main reasons I hate summer is what it does to my hair. It's not really fun to go three months looking like a sweaty troll doll. While I suppose these hippie-redux headbands WOULD keep my hair from reaching maximum lift-off, I also hate the feeling of my damp hair plastered to the side of my face, and I can't see how this does anything but add to the problem.

The Boyfriend Tee:



I add this with a caveat; I like feminized menswear, and am actually a fan of the whole "boyfriend shirt" trend, when done right. However, I feel it should be noted that SHIRTS ARE NOT DRESSES.

Ladies, Vanessa Hudgens can not pull off this look, and we are not Vanessa Hudgens. Where are your pants? I have seen everything from the teenytiny jorts, which I am not a fan of, but will at least accept that you are somewhat aware of being in public, to the oblivious full moon that leads me to believe that it's not a few girls taking fashion to an unfortunate place, and that the shirt-as-solo is a full-on trend.

A note: if your shirt barely covers your cheeks while standing straight up, wear something underneath it. I think I speak for a grateful Chicago when I say we don't want to see your nethers when you bend over to pick up the food tickets you dropped while buying your big ass turkey leg.

Additional sidebar on this rant, $50 plus is too much to spend on a lumpy t-shirt. Please go get an XXXL from Hanes if you are so obliged.

From mini to maxi:


I add this as an homage to Sissy, who really hates this look. I don't, though I think, as with the Boyfriend Trend, strict rules apply. If you are using the maxi dress as a modern muumuu, seek help. If you fail the Pencil Test, WEAR A BRA.

Actually, two birds, one stone: this rule ties in nicely with the yearly nightmare of tube tops...unflattering on everyone. Always pulling them up, sagging issues, certain anatomy looking like flapjacks. Who likes that swampy feeling under there? What if you get sweat marks?! I speak from experience that the sisters should be contained, for your own sake. Halters are just not for us, mmkay?

I suppose that's the moral of this post altogether: just because it's out there, it doesn't mean you have to wear it. Don't be a slave to fashion! Some things shouldn't be worn by women over the age of 25 (Forever 21, I am looking at you.) Some things don't fit your body, no matter what size they come in. Some things really are meant for you to wear at home (yes you, rompers!)...at least if you're over the age of 5. A Birv rule of thumb: If you are constantly adjusting yourself- pulling something up, pulling something down, taking off and immediately putting back on- it's not flattering on you.

Oh, They're Real.

Since I haven't changed a diaper since the 7th grade (8 years of nieces and my record holds strong) I found it necessary to look up brand names for diapers when conducting the very important business of insulting someone's youth (27 years old= babies!). Google blessed me with a hit on these Jean Diapers from Huggies.

On one hand, I get that we all used to have non-disposable diapers. Why not be creative with the fabric? On the other... baby jorts? Rednecky? Possibly. Non-absorbent? Definitely.

Truthfully, I can't tell from the description whether or not they're actually fabric, though they keep calling them denim:

Jeans have always been a Mommy fashion must-have, but now it's time for their little ones to steal the style. HUGGIES® gets fashion forward with new denim diaper design to help your baby stay trendy while keeping dry.

Very fashionable - for a limited time!
Denim has always been a summer style staple, and the HUGGIES® Jeans Diapers are no exception: this is a short-term offering to help little ones steal Mom's summer style. However, HUGGIES® Little Movers are on shelves before, during and after the Jeans products are available.

• A unique, fun and stylish way to make your little one the coolest and cutest around.
• Same proven leakage protection Moms have come to know and trust from HUGGIES® Little Movers Diapers.
• Shaped to move, featuring the same revolutionary design and technology as HUGGIES® Little Movers Diapers, allowing little ones to move, crawl and scoot.
  

Can you tell if they're actually denim? Do you question the diaper rash situation in non-breathable denim, coated with baby crap?

Duct Tape Is NOT Your Friend, or, How I Learned I'll ALWAYS Need a Bra.

Man, I clung to those overalls for a looong time. Today's stroll down BFF Memory Lane takes us about a month into our freshman year.

BFF and I went to Webster University... a teeny tiny fine arts school that housed about 800 students when we attended. Since the school was so tiny, and perhaps because of the desire of the population to re-live a happier high school existence (freaks & geeks unite!), Webster had sock hops and dances about twice a quarter. They always had themes... Halloween, Christmas, and, in this particular instance, the Pajama Jammy Jam. It was our first dance, and in a fit of determination to fix my self confidence (well, and try to get laid), I picked up a little "sum'n sexxxy" for the dance on our monthly snack stock-up trip (juice boxes, ramen, and Nutter Butters- staples of college life) to the Kmart with Miles. Awwww yeah.

I picked out a plum-colored satin nighty... longish, not too revealing, just enough to get that "gee, I'd like to tap that" thought in some gentlemen's heads. At least, that's what it looked like on the rack. Remember... this is the '90s, heyday of the "slipdress" (thanks for that one, Princess Di!).

Most of you that read this blog have known me for quite a while, or at least have seen me at some point in your lives. I'm pretty sure you all realized that nothing I'm sporting in the "chestal region" is a recent development. I realized in the store getting a thin-strapped satin nighty was a risky maneuver. But me, I've thought ahead. I'm prepared. I was the recent recipient of a very early viral email (what would later be credited as a cautionary tale) about how to keep the "girls" in check. I drag BFF into the Home Supplies aisle.

BFF: "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Birv: "Pshhhht YES. I mean... you could see it in the picture, but only because her dress was so low-cut. I'm not THAT slutty."

BFF: "How will you keep it from tearing your skin off?"

Birv: "Well... masking tape isn't as sticky as the other stuff. I'll use that by my skin, you know, like volleyball players do (!), and then the duct tape over that to keep them from bouncing around. It'll work, trust me! (The famous last words of anyone embarking on a stupid endeavor.)"

BFF: "Oooookaaay..."

We hustle back to the dorm rooms to get ready for our very first dance. BFF is ready quickly, adorably in a set of cotton jammies. Time for her to help Sultry Susie Birv get ready. The viral email doesn't really show how much tape was used to replace a bra, or how it was put on. Plus, that girl doesn't have tits the size of watermelons to deal with. I decide one strip for "Nip THO Prevention" and cleavage enhancement won't be enough. Best to wrap the whole kit & kaboodle (kabooble?) up, boob tube style, for good measure.

I employ a dubious (and remarkably gracious) BFF to start at my back and start wrapping like a mummy with the masking tape, while I hold the girls in place. We're standing in the middle of my dorm, hoping to god that my roommate doesn't walk in, as this would just take WAY too much explaining. After some awkward moments in which we try to figure out the nipple situation-I end up just taking care of that area myself (To this date, I have never seen BFF's goods. She insists she's seen far too much of mine.)- the masking tape layer is on. It's taken up the entire roll, which doesn't fill me with self-confidence and poise. In fact, it's pretty sweaty, and isn't exactly forming to my body like I envisioned it would; it's lumpy as hell and poking me in the arms when I try to put them at my sides.

Never one to do stupid things in a half-assed manner, I press on. So what if sweat is pooling in my cleavage, as well as dripping down my back? This kind of strapless bra beauty comes at a price. Once the duct tape is on, smoothing everything out- I'll look vixenish and gorgeous. A red-headed Marilyn (hah!). I make BFF start with the mummy wrap one more time.

Laughing the whole time, BFF finishes the job. It's getting hot in my room, and with two rolls of tape on my chest, it's pretty hard to inhale. I have no idea how anyone in their right mind would willingly wear a corset. But still...I'm gonna look friggin' sweet at that dance. I may not be able to sit down or bend over except at right angles (that much tape is actually pretty rigid), and the breathing thing may make it really hard to, you know, actually dance, but still. Who cares? I'm going to meet someone cute! I just know it! (All right, I'll be honest, what was going through my mind is "Tyson will finally notice me! Tyson will finally notice me!" Ahhh.... crushes)

An hour later, I'm ready for the actual nighty. I need assistance getting it on, as I can't lift my arms above my shoulders without serious threat of ripping off my nips (turns out masking tape is stickier than one would think), so BFF helps out. It barely fits over my homemade strapless bra. Never accounted for adding what must have been an inch of tape to my bustline.

It's totally not working. the duct tape only makes the peaks and points of the rest of the tape more prominent, the sweat dripping down my back to my ass is making a spot on my dress the size of Lake Michigan, and now every time I breathe, you can hear a weird crackling noise as the dress rubs across the tape.

BFF is trying to be loyal, and not laugh her ass off. She's failing miserably. I'm trying to convince myself that it is acceptable to go in public looking (and sounding) like an HVAC unit. I am also failing miserably. I finally decide (as sweat begins to work it's way out of my cleavage and I look more and more like a linebacker after a July practice in Florida) to give up on the taping and wear a bra and a sweater. So much for sex kitten appeal. I try to take the tape off.

This proves more difficult than it seems. My body heat has fused the glue of all the tape together. BFF runs to her room, and comes back, sniggering, with a giant pair of scissors (BFF is always prepared), and cuts through what basically adds up to a full torso cast.

Remember how I said I couldn't raise my arms without serious damage? This is nothing, NOTHING compared to trying to pull 80 layers of tape off my boobs. Guess what? That skin is pretty sensitive. And has apparently absorbed the first layer of tape like a she-wolf adopts a foundling boy. IT WILL NOT LET GO.

BFF is now crying laughing, unable to stand. She's now content to watch me suffer in pulling my modern body armor off while lounging in comfort in her Sailor Moon jammies on my bed. I finally get the tape off 1/2 an hour later, and we head to the dance in defeat- my hair 6 inches bigger in a poof of sweaty humidity from my frenzied fight with the tape demons.

Imeet no one (or have anyone notice me) at the party. Probably pretty lucky in that- I have red marks on my boobs for a full week after, and I look like a leper.

Just for shiggles... the viral email that prompted this is below. Enjoy.

I'm Officially Old

Does anyone else find themselves worrying about the girl in this ad campaign by American Apparel? I'm worried she's either unwittingly found herself in casting couch porn ('Do...do I have to?' 'You wanna get into show business, don't ya?') or getting "sexted", as the kids say these days, all across her high school.

Either way, it makes me shudder.

Today's Questionable Product

I really don't mean to examine the world of products developed for "down there" on a daily basis here on Fonzipan, but I couldn't bypass the Cuchini, the product developed due to the mass conversion to the Brazilian. As the website states, there "ain't no bush for the cush". I have to tell you, I never made the connection myself. Clearly, I have not been using my time wisely.

As if we needed more things to worry about... now we need to stick a cup in our panties? When do we say "enough is enough"? Do guys have such questionable products? Now I have to investigate.

Product site here.

PS- don't ask me about the arrow in this picture... I just got it off the website. Maybe it's an "I'm with stupid" arrow for the purchaser?

There's Such a Thing as Going TOO Green.

Yeah... that's exactly what you think it is. Some looney toon at etsy.com (a site I normally adore, think stylish craft ebay) set up her own shop called Randumosity in order to foist upon the world her idea of green living:

Etsy Eco-Tip: "Reuse, Reduce and Recycle"Using cloth menstrual pads will lessen your contribution to the landfill!
Added on May 4, 2009

Honestly? I know, I know...fact of life and all that, but the earth-burning Westerner in me begs you to consider the logistics: who wants this thing hanging around their drawer? Is flannel really that... absorbent? I think the thing that makes these so objectionable is the gaggingly cutesy "femininity" with which she chose the designs.

Here are some of the more disturbing fabric choices this ghastly woman made:

Just what we all love being referred to... especially during that special time.

I'm all for retro, but in this situation, Care Bears seem completely inappropriate.

This brings a new meaning to "Ants in your pants". I suspect this was made without a shred of irony.

Upperclass America Takes It's Love of Fleece Too Far.

Fleece... the first choice in outerwear by upper-class white people. Behold the Peekaru, the fleece to keep baby warm on those long treks to your BMW X5.

Because what do upper-class people like to do more than anything else? Flaunt their spawn and ability to find love with their homogenous-looking spouses in front of the general population, getting as close as possible to carrying a banner that says "WE FUCK!!", without actually having the banner. Because apparently that would be tackier than the "Smitten", mittens for lovers.

I know it's difficult, choosing between your love of fleece and love for your spouse... but now you don't have to. You can shamelessly flaunt both with sweaty palm hand-holding in the tandem mitten: "My nose itches!" "Awwww I'll scratch it for you, poopsie!!" *HORF*

Where can one pick up the Smitten? Restoration Hardware, where apparently it was so popular that they are currently sold out.

Thanks to Sis in Law for the Peekaru tip, and I'll do you one better:

Photoshops courtesy of Emptees, via Geekologie. Natch.

Will They Be Selling This Line At Target?

Fashion Week reared it's ugly head again last week at the Alexander McQueen show. Looks like "l'enfant terrible" is back... to being one step away from BDSM. Can't wait to get my McQ Ball Gag at Target!

PS- no, you're not seeing things, those ARE soda cans on their heads.

Show Us Your... OBAMA?!

This was going to be an punditwear post, but then I got to looking at the other types of beads that the MardiGrasOutlet has, and I figured that this is "best of" worthy.

U.S.A. LOVE IT!!! Love it...

Tricky Dick? Gang sign? Pirate?

Sushi. It's sushi!!!! With an elegant touch of pearls between.

I honestly think the hula dolphins are my favorite. Something about a sea-based mammal in a bra...

This tiger is leering so filthily I don't even want to search in his pot o' gold.

La cucaracha...

Who puts boobs on a frog? Why is this erotic?

Random Thought...

What's the deal with the sweater vest? Your chest is cold, but your arms are fine? Do you need a fuller range of motion from which you are inhibited by sleeves?

Don't get me wrong, I don't dislike the look, but how did the sweater vest evolve?

Fat Is a Dirty Word

It's a regular feature on Dateline: NBC and 60 Minutes, and Tyra was a little TOO excited to don her own. As I was perusing the Daily Mail today, as is my gossipy custom, the dreaded fat suit reared its ugly head once more. The title of this article? What Happened When We Sent a "Fattie" to London Fashion Week? Kate Faithfull Reports Back On Her Week On the Fatwalk. Lovely.


I know the Daily Mail has a journalistic brain the approximate size of a walnut, but I absolutely DETEST the use of a fat suit. It is incredibly insulting to think that because one walked around in a pillow all day that they understand what it is like to be obese.



While I will discuss whether these pioneers find any true insight to the social factors of corpulence, I want to first discuss the physical reality of obesity. Zipping up a padded suit doesn't add the extra pressure to joints and organs that true weight produces. Being fat is uncomfortable... a situation that Faithfull seems unable to realize:

When I zip up the fat suit in front of the mirror at home the day before the shows, I feel absurdly comfortable, warm and snuggly. It is on loan from fancy dress shop Angels, who usually lend it to am-dram productions...It feels as cosy (and as hot) as being wrapped in a duvet.

Being fat is not just like being swathed in a Snuggie. Fat is a PART of you, not something that one sheds at the end of the day like a winter coat.

The effect, though, is very soft and sexy. There are no rolls of wobbly flesh: my stomach is gently rounded and my magnificent bosom looks like something you’d want to rest your head on and fall asleep in for 100 years.

This is one of my true problems with fat suits- the results are not realistic. You're walking around in a pillow... things stay perky and fluffed out. Fat has weight... and things droop, sag and roll. A woman donning a fat suit is not spending hours in front of a mirror contemplating whether the material of her shirt is too thin because her belly button is casting a shadow, or whether she needs to buy a different dress because this one shows her back fat.

Being overweight is insidious- something that someone deals with over time. As such, so many of the judgments are internal: am I the biggest person in the room? Will I fit in the seat next to that person on the train? I am so busy scrutinizing myself that the supposedly "shocking" revelations about how the general public treats fat people is surprisingly not on my mind the majority of the time. I have, indeed, never noticed someone snickering as I reached for the Pringles. I don't mean to say it hasn't happened, but I have to live my life every day looking the way I do; if I kept an ear open for every comment, or watched for every gawker, I'd never be able to leave the house.

I often suspect that the treatment that fat-suiters often receive is because they are so clearly playing a part; humans are fairly adept at sniffing out trickery (for all that Howie Mandel says otherwise), and I feel that this is what people often respond to. We must also remember that these primetime specials and articles are edited to include the most abhorrent behavior that the journalist received, and as such, we may only be seeing the two or three ignorant jackasses that exist. We may also never know if these cads were provoked... this is an age of ratings and rampant yellow journalism after all. Which brings us back to the Daily Mail's attempt at social experiments:

As I wait in the busy queue for the show, surrounded by hundreds of air kisses that aren't aimed at me, I feel everyone's eyes upon me. But when I try to make eye contact and smile back, the wall of pupils fixed on me roll away. I am the elephant in the room. Do they think that fat is catching?
But maybe I'm imagining the way these people stare and then look into the middle distance just beyond my left ear. 'No,' says Nick, the photographer I've brought with me. 'Everyone is definitely gawping at you.'

Of course they're gawping at you... this is the most ridiculously fake looking fat suit I've ever seen. Not only is your face so normally sized that you look like a bloated tick, but you can see the lines of your padding. If they were staring at anything, they were wondering why you were in costume. You're also wearing the most hideous combination of 80's colors I can imagine.

What is the goal of these fat suit exposes? Are these people trying to break ground here? What ugliness of the human condition are they shedding light on, cruelty or obesity? The reality is that what it's really like being fat is lost on reporters that take a tour in a fat suit, because at the end of the day, these bright, successful thin people go back to their ordinary lives.

Ugly Is the New Black.

Oh I missed you guys. I have so much to tell from my vacation (Creation Museum? Holy Crap.), but as I am still collecting my thoughts (and pictures), that'll have to wait. Until then, as you may or may not know, it's Fashion Week in New York... which means that the ridiculous are on parade. For your enjoyment, I trolled through New York Magazine's Fashion section, and picked out a few of my favorites. The couture shows are typically more...absurd, but there were some stand outs from the RTW shows.

I realize I probably should have credited the designers here, but I didn't really think about that until it was way, WAY too late to go back and find them all. So they can suck it.

Just in time for Mardi Gras.

This is the DESIGNER. Not Joking. Though I guess I can't fault him for being all about drama on the runway... if he shows up to dinner wearing this, we may need to have a talk.

Hefty hefty hefty!

Clowns scare the crap out of me, and this is close enough. Kind of reminds me of Babes in Toyland. Please god I hope that wasn't the inspiration for this collection.

This guy looks so miserable I don't even know where to start. He's featured a TON in this show, too.

Goes to show that M.I.A.'s issue wasn't that she had her big preggo belly hanging out... the dress is just plain hideous.

Slap a hat and some riding boots on him and he's Ryan from High School Musical.

Do I even need to make the Hammer joke here? I'm sure you can do it on your own.

This is the start of a disturbing Star Wars trend to the Fall 2009 fashion.

Am I right or am I right?? Looks like something you'd find on Naboo.

Storm Troopers. I'm telling you.

Yeah, I don't know either.

At first I thought this was a mannequin. Then I realized it is a completely terrifying mask.