Hail to the Queen

IT is not the Mont Blanc Nicolas Rieussec Steel Chrono watch ($9700.00) that captures my imagination. This foggy and gray Thursday (11 June) in the Saks Fifth Avenue Men’s store it is my chat with a twosome – I’ll call them S. and D. At such a do as this, where GQ magazine, Saks and Mont Blanc form an alliance to sell product in a sleek, slick package to a techno pop soundtrack, one expects rather a lot of posing and peacocking. Chatting about anything of substance can be a buzz kill.

An aside: Not knocking anyone else’s spending habits … If Yours Truly pays almost $10,000 for a watch, it better wash the dishes, walk the dog, cook the food, feed the cat, answer e-mail, pick up the dry cleaning, gimme 50 pushups and have a glass of sparkling wine chilled just so when I return home from a hard day. But that’s just me.

Anywho, a conversation that begins with Queen Noor (above) and her cosmetic interventions quickly moves to weightier topics. D has just arrived from a panel discussion at the New York Public Library about the media's role in shaping perceptions that Muslims and Westerners have of each other. The Queen was a panelist and asserted that Muslim Americans need a “Cosby Show” to change negative perceptions of them as she believes that ‘80s show did for Black Americans (Of course, there are some who would beg to differ.)

The Queen's statement is the catalyst for a conversational stew: religion and racial oppression, ethnic stereotypes, prominent Lebanese Americans, colonialism and its harmful side effects, President Obama, Three-Fifths Compromise, the Chinese role in the building of this country's railroads. And in a surprising and wonderful twist, we play a game of “Who Are You,” guessing each other’s ethnic background (not ommitting any group) as best we can. “We’re all mutts,” D says afterward. “We’re hybrids,” I maintain, which D. and S. cotton to immediately.

After all, hybrids are good for the environment.

Tinsley to the Rescue!

NEXT to fashion, Tinsley Mortimer (left) has two great loves: Bebe and Bella, her two Chihuahuas, ages 8 and 7, respectively.
“My dogs are my children,” she says like she really means it, and Yours Truly believes her. “They are my heart and soul.”
The personable and media savvy socialite, wife and fashion/accessory designer is very much in her element Wednesday evening (10 June) at the Samantha Thavasa store on Madison Avenue. In progress is a fundraiser organized by the Japanese handbag company, which has made a name for itself using young, famous American spokesmodels – Beyoncé, Solange, Paris, Nicky, J. Lo and Tinsley – to hawk and design its product. Ten percent of handbag sales, including those bearing Tinsley’s name, will help NYC Shiba Rescue (http://NYCSHIBARESCUE.ORG/) improve the quality of life of full- and mixed-bred Shibas in metro New York by any means necessary.
While Tinsley does not plan to adopt a Shiba – really small dogs are her thing – she promises that “for my third, I’m definitely going to get a rescue,” despite the travel quota of one dog per human. Under the two-canine system, she and hubby, Topper (Squash to the rumors of a split that marked January.), have things covered. I volunteer to chaperone the third, and Tinsley doesn’t decline my generous offer. There may yet be some first-class frequent flier miles in my future.
Speaking of future, Tinsley informs me that she is NOT pregnant; she’s “fat.” Yes, fat. That bump I encountered when I touched the front of her black lace Alice + Olivia baby doll dress is the fallout from dunkin’ doughnuts at Disney World. Yes, doughnuts. Yes, Disney World. Repeat after me, “Tinsley is NOT …”

Frock history

AH! the cocktail dress, that unassuming frock that has a way of making the woman wearing it feel feminine, powerful and beautiful. It seems to have been with us forever. It’s like a relative we’ve always known, but in actuality know little about. Indeed, what’s its history? How has it evolved since its creation in the 1920s. Who has designed some of the most memorable? Style.com senior features editor Laird Borrelli-Persson explores these and other questions in a petite, new picture book fittingly titled “The Cocktail Dress.” The book's cover art is a publicity photo from "Breakfast at Tiffany's" featuring Carrie Bradshaw's spiritual girlfriend, the irrepressible Holly Golightly and Cat. “It was an interesting challenge to say something further about something so simple,” said Laird-Borrelli, who is deftly handling well-wishers and media types at Tuesday night's (9 June) book publication party at Club Monaco’s Prince Street store. “The cocktail dress is a short, simple dress but it encompasses so much.” ... Meanwhile, it was not the Prosecco or poor eyesight or bad lighting in Club Monaco. Put it down to the fact that all handsome men bear a striking resemblance. Why else would I confuse Style.com editor Dirk Standen with A-Rod (above)? Thanks to the Style.com shutterbug, I did not approach the slugger for a quote ...


CE QUI SE PASSE ICI?
Pst! Pst! Guess who's having a do right around the corner from Club Monaco on Greene Street under the cover of darkness and the threat of rain? It is nearly 10 o'clock and it looks like this party is just jumpin’ off from my (disad)vantage point at the bottom of the stairs where I can see several impossibly handsome, black-clad servers standing erect like sentries – as they do at all of these affairs – holding trays of drinks. Rather late for this sort of soiree in this quartier. None other than Louis Vuitton. The very cordial p.r. mave’s story: it’s a “very private” shopping event for special customers. Umm hmm. No media allowed she informs Yours Truly as an earnest look of sorrow scrolls across her beautiful, lineless face. She didn’t yield one inch, not even after I shared my witty, little anecdote about how at a certain time of day one can always count on that long line of Japanese tourists waiting outside the Paris store at the corner of the Champs Elysees and George V to drop beaucoup euros on anything bearing those famous initials. No media, not even my former employer, Who Won’t Be Named. It all seems rather fishy – likely some Franco scheme to takeover the fashion world and bar belly-bearing garments. Still, I don’t make a fuss. By now the Prosecco is imposing itself. And my feet, propped up on 4.253-inch heels – need I say more? I’ll live another day, I reason, to challenge LV the Great.