STYLE ADVENTURE ETIQUETTE

Archive for the ‘Society’ Category

Jumping to Conclusions is my Favorite Type of Exercise

In Celebrity, Fashion, inspiration, Society, Style on June 7, 2013 at 1:30 pm

Bianca Miller Portrait

Once upon a not-so-long-ago time, Lady Bianca Miller found herself an agile and dexterous sprite — a paragon of feminine canine existence — boasting a panther lithe figure and a soul made of duck confit to match.  A lady of great fortune, you see, immune to the pitfalls of genetics, poor diet and minimal exercise.

Ehem.  Well truthfully — to be fair to all my mere-mortal fans, there was a moment in 2008 when the tabloids did capture my likeness from a particularly harsh angle:

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Sunning myself in a park on the French Riviera, I’d just gone through an exceedingly strenuous split from a famous French Spaniel film director and found myself in the throes of butter, baguette and pate threesomes on a regular basis. Who could blame me?!

Following the outrageous circulation of these filthy photos, my agent Herman Tannenbaum called my publicist, Zsa Zsa, who called Christine Henderson, my nutritionist, who in turn called Ronald my personal trainer, who called Acario my manservant and personal chef — and I was immediately put on a varied diet and exercise regimen consisting of kale, quinoa, bran,  yoga, amphetamines, enzymes, interval training, green juice, and barbecued ribs.  I was back to my slender self in no time — of course still with my voluptuous curves in tact!  Why — it has been only in the past year (alas!) that Lady Bianca Miller has slowly found herself becoming victim to the awful metabolic realities of the masses.

And of course, in consideration of my high stakes modeling career, I’ve taken it upon myself and my considerable staff to get things under control before things become so wildly out of control that I should jeopardize the cushy insurance policy that covers any damage to my heavenly burrito shaped body.  All the celebrities have them for certain bits and pieces — famously Jennifer Lopez for her rear end, Angelina Jolie for those rather grotesque (and I mean this in the best way possible) lips, Tom Cruise for his for his brain (Tee hee!  Just kidding, obviously — we all know his IQ just skims above the cut off for mental retardation) — but rarely do celebrities have their entire beings insured.  And before you think me conceited, I am merely working off the advice of my countless admirers and of course my entertainment lawyer, Alan Hershkowitz.

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I appeared my usual self for this MoMA Design Store modeling job after being forced to subsist on sticks and coal for weeks. I assure you, dear readers, the modeling world is anything but pretty.

But alas, when I do find myself needing to gear up my exercise regimen, I refuse the big business commercial gyms — those cesspools of mediocrity and thievery — places where one might find oneself both swindled and required to mingle with commoners.  Eee Gads!

My venue of choice for sculpting my perfectly proportioned yet odd and peanut shaped body is Fifth Avenue Fitness right here in my own lovely Brooklyn neighborhood.  And I’ll tell you – though I may huff and puff, make snurfling and chortling sounds, curse the world and yearn for my mommy during a session — I truly have grown stronger both mentally and physically since I’ve put in my time there.

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As you can very well see, I find myself quite perturbed by the idea of the treadmill yet I understand and accept that it is of tantamount importance in order to warm up so my majestic and desirable figure can be sculpted properly.

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Wondering where I get my sweet biceps? Look no further.

Now far be it from me to complain — I do realize I’ve been blessed with porcelain skin, shimmering fur, perfect proportions and a neck longer in circumference than the length or height of my entire body, but, dammit, I’m going to anyway:

I absolutely, positively, certifiably deplore exercise!!!  For god’s sake  I find it absolutely abominable but unfortunately, I’ve also found as the years go by — if I want to prevent my third and fourth neck rolls (two neck rolls is a little bit sexy) from protruding — physical activity has become an absolute must.

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Here a dear friend convinced me to take a jazzercise class. And though I put on a brave and happy face, I am crying on the inside dear friends. Sobbing. Weeping, really.

In fact, if I am being completely honest with myself and you, my loyal fans, all I want to do is eat my body weight in bacon cheeseburgers, tater tots and oysters, drown my sorrows in Hendrick’s Gin and fun hallucinogenic drugs, nap on memory foam mattresses with intermittent visits from my masseur — and sprinkle magic fairy dust all over everything, make things look pretty, not gain a pound or get wrinkles or get old and have everyone do exactly what I say at all times and for everything to go my way AT ALL TIMES without me having to LIFT A PAW for heaven-sake is that too much to ask!!!!???!!!

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I’m not as comfortable and relaxed here as I’d like to be ideally, but you get the idea of what I’m going for.

And now I feel I should apologize for that little temper tantrum, dear friends.  Admittedly, you have caught me in the midst of a bit of an existential meltdown.  See, when faced with one’s own mortality sometimes…well…one begins to realize that life is short and death is scary and being is difficult.  And I suppose that is the paradox of the Canine Condition — that we all strive for perfection in life — and in the process, destroy the essence of life itself.

And so, when one thinks, when one concludes (and as I’ve mentioned – jumping to conclusions is my favorite type of exercise – so in no way am I attempting to judge you for doing the same) that a nearly perfect being as myself — that my existence seems so effortless…well, think again.  Though I am skilled at making life look stunning on the outside, things on the interior are quite tender and do crumble quite easily when pushed too hard from above.

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Sometimes when reality becomes too much, I gather some friends and we play an absurd little game called “Down the Rabbit Hole,” or we hold an Un-birthday party where we minimize icky realistic life responsibilities and exalt indulgences and extravagancies.  Ooooo, so fun.

And so, I pull up my proverbial socks and march on (don’t worry, I’d never be caught dead in those vulgar little socks that chihuahuas and the like tend to wear) — I continue on with this paradoxical struggle…the one which so often eludes us creatures of higher intelligence — the struggle in which youth and maturity, recreation and health, extravagance and discipline seem simultaneously so diametrically opposed.  When in fact, it is all really and always has been — a child’s game.  This is it — the see-saw of life, the roller coaster — whatever you want to call it,  and it doesn’t change.  It charges along ceaselessly into the horizon, the dust from the road rising in its wake — and it doesn’t stop or wait for anyone.  One has to get off the ride oneself and take a turn out.

And with that in mind, my dear friends, I think I’ll go spend the afternoon drinking sidecars, eating caviar and canoodling with a very young and handsome but simple-minded Rhodesian Ridgeback.  Because tomorrow is a new day, and I just don’t know what kind of (and please pardon my Swiss finishing school manners here) m*^&ther f*%^*cking bullish&^%t it might hold.

Existentially yours,

Lady Bianca Miller

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The Lady (Bianca Miller) Repeller: The Holy Mandal Trinity

In Society on October 1, 2012 at 9:58 am

As September passes us by, the natives of this wonderful little city of ours can often be found wistfully gazing into the rising dust left in the wake of summer’s rapid departure.  No more sunny afternoons in the park.  No more long weekends at the shore.  No more salty caramel bacon rosemary encrusted lamb kabob ice cream sourced from a local, organic, artisanal stationary bicycle-powered creamery/goat farm located on the roof of a Crown Heights brownstone.

But it’s not all tears for Lady Bianca Miller.  Heavens no!  Once the scathing traumas, laid to rest with the fading sunsets of summer, are pieced apart — one can attempt (feebly attempt!) to make sense of the violent, horrid and dreadful global devastation caused by what we now know of as: The Holy Mandal Trinity.  It is now, and only now, that we may join the fine people of this city and begin to take comfort in the return of the cold weather.

To give my dear readers a brief historical background, The Holy Mandal Trinity dates back to ancient times — the Greco-Persian Wars — when people fought racist battles, believed in religious fairy-tales and #&$@%$#ed their siblings.  Kind of like our modern-day Teapartiers!  The flip-flop, the Jesus Mandal and the Teva are the three major strains that make up The Holy Mandal Trinity – a trifecta that terrorizes billions upon billions of human beings each summer, all over the globe.

I trust, my faithful readers, that you have all read my former dissertation on The Turd for Shoe, and had some time to digest it (oh god I know, vulgar (just foul!) but when speaking on a topic so utterly disturbing as The Holy Mandal Trinity, even a lady must sometimes use graphic wordplay).  And so I feel it is time, only now that the cool Canadian breezes are gently moving south, to uncover to my readers the dark, depraved and twisted world of The Holy Mandal Trinity.  I shall start by dissecting the seedy underbelly of the basic flip-flop:

Though not the most primitive form of the Mandal, the flip-flop is definitely the most prolific and permeating member of The Holy Mandal Trinity to this day. Although the original intended use of the flip-flop, even in ancient times, was casual — modern-day miscreants have extended the use to prevail outside of beaches, communal showers and nail salons.

The rise of the flip-flop, outside of purely casual function, has a direct correlation with the rise of certain foot auto-immunodeficiency diseases, rapid gag-reflex statistical increases, and a general rise in the dissolution of humanity and culture.  Several flip-flop strain mutations have brought about a sudden rise in the potency and immorality of the practice itself of wearing flip-flops — in no particular order: flip-flops on men, flip-flops with pants, flip-flops on men with pants, flip-flops with socks, and finally, the abominable platform flip-flop.

Man with pant and flip-flop.

Flip-flop with particularly horrific toe-sock combination.

Probable Russian prostitute modeling heinous platform flip-flop.

Another dangerous strain within The Holy Mandal Trinity is the Jesus Mandal.  The Jesus Mandal’s devastating effect can be felt the world over and comes in many horrifying forms:

The classic Jesus Mandal with toe over bite.

The platform Doc Marten Jesus Mandal: often observed in its native habitat, the Celtic wares and crushed velvet corset stand at Renaissance Fayres across the globe.

The sock with Mandal double team.

And finally, the aggrandizement of the Teva economy has had a particularly disfiguring effect on the face of humankind.  In the early 1990s, the industrialization of the hiking Mandal industry lead to a rise in the technological techniques developed to cradle and pamper mans foot, while causing vast numbers of innocent bystanders to plunge directly into the abyss of complete toxic shock.  By the mid-nineties, notwithstanding the massive number of calls to consumer affairs, a one million person strong class-action suit in federal court and a recall of certain lethally defective Mandals, stores like EMS and REI would still not cease from stocking multiple Mandal strains which they both legally and illegitimately supplied to freelance journalists, lesbians, bird-watchers and Everymen around the globe.

The highly evolved and dangerous Teva.

So I leave you, dear readers with one question, a question that plagues me like a Herodotean tale as old as time: if we are going to live this ghastly existence we have come to call life, why not make it beautiful?  Why tarnish the face of the globe and of humanity by propagating the rise of The Holy Mandal Trinity?  But then again, to further ponder and counter the point: if depravity and ugliness in the world don’t exist, can beauty?  Without the existence of The Holy Mandal Trinity to starkly contrast all that is lovely, what measure of beauty can we possibly have?

So hats off, or shoes off I should say (tee hee!) to all you card-carrying members of The Holy Mandal Trinity, to be brave enough to walk this crazy mixed-up earth of ours ornamented in the various abominations that The Trinity has mercilessly thrust upon humankind.  You Mandal wearers certainly are, like myself, a rare breed; just unfortunately, not rare enough.

Regally yours,

Lady Bianca Miller

What’s the Meme-ing of This?

In Adventure, Celebrity, Etiquette, Nemesis, Slander, Society on July 12, 2012 at 1:39 pm

Heaven knows I’ve gone to extraordinary lengths to sidestep the pitfalls of high society life. I do so pity those who fall prey to the entourage of charlatans and hangers-on who make their living duping celebrities like myself with their own special brands of witch-doctory, hocus poucs and claptrap. Those of you in the know will be well aware of these tribes of swindlers; psychics, shamans, image consultants and dermatologists.

For the longest time I had steadfastly shunned them all, only to bow last year only to the advice of my trusted numerologist, Madame Menteur, to hire a press agent. This press agent, who shall remain nameless for legal reasons, was described to me as a necessary evil when living life in the public eye in today’s media saturated world. I would benefit from her careful hand, gently guiding my friends in the newsroom as to which stories of my exploits were suitable for public consumption and which were to remain my own for charming banter at cocktail hour. I also paid handsomely for the services of strictly controlling the right to my likeness, with imagery of my visage appearing only with my express permission, for a reasonable and tastefully donated fee.

Well you can imagine my horror when a dear reader took it upon themselves to inform my lovely friend Miss Miller of certain images that have been made available on what the young ones call Facesbook. It’s come to light that there are literally dozens of websites around the world where people place faked photographs that they buy somewhere called Photoshop, which I believe is in Seattle somewhere.

In response to this complete and utter failure by this so called ‘press agent’ I have asked my staff to take these photos from those websites and store them safely here on my own website instead. That way I can be sure they go no further.

So for that reason only they are stored below. I trust you will all have the good manners and courtesy to refrain from viewing them.

Bianca Golden Globes photobomb

Yours in dismay,

Bianca

The Lady (Bianca) Repeller: The Turd for Shoe

In Etiquette, Fashion, Society, Style on April 30, 2012 at 12:10 pm

My darling dearests,

As I’m sure you are well aware, I’ve been in the tabloids yet again this week!!  But WAIT.  Before you all lament my mishandling and have to retreat to the couch in despair, placing cold compresses across your brow while you limply watch honeybooboochild on repeat just to kill brain cells and numb your senses…Stop!  Because we can thank goodness gracious that this time around, the article is a simply DARLING little write up about yours truly!

The article actually exalts my innumerable merits and talents instead of slandering my good name by suggesting that I “was seen on my back under a tree at Prospect Park in the presence of a handsome Rottweiler.”  Good grief, enough with all of that nonsense!

And so moving right along, you can have a read about me here on Racked NY…a positively delightful website, clearly contributed to by a team of highly evolved beings who truly appreciate beauty, grace, style and intelligence when they see it…

Obviously, like any proper gentlewoman, I save my boa for special occasions like lying out on the front door mat, soliciting attention from passer by. Confound it! This is NOT a house of ill repute, I say.

AND since we have got on the topic of style, I want to introduce a brand new section of my little blog I like to call “The Lady (Bianca) Repeller.”  It is an homage to another, simply fantastic little site entitled The Man Repeller, which showcases things women love to wear that, for SOME unimaginable reason, repel men.

For instance…clothing items that make a perfectly attractive young woman look like she’s taken a 40 lb dump in her pants and has decided to keep walking around with it in there instead of doing away with it behind a parked car or some shrubs the way I do.

Lovely smile, but I would suggest she save the plastic bags she gets after grocery shopping instead of leaving that whole dump in the pants situation untended to. Eeee Gads!

And I suppose while we are on the (very vexing to a lady indeed!) topic of scatology, I’ve decided I should enlighten my gentlemen readers and fans with a little section that highlights a few of man’s favorite things to wear when  HE is repelling members of the opposite sex.  WHY there couldn’t be a better example to start off with than the age-old example of The Turd for Shoe.

The Turd for Shoe is an inexplicable phenomena that begins to happen (usually early in male development) when at some point, man decides — WHY put your ENTIRE foot into a shoe (this might entail actually bending down, or perhaps some movement using arm strength and/or hand mobility) when, with one swift movement, one can merely SLIP one’s foot into a large, soft, brown, structureless TURD and then proceed to walk around like that, just living life.

Exhibit A. One of the most primitive forms of the Turd for Shoe, this beauty by Birkenstock now actually pales in comparison to many of the newer fandangled Turds that have burst onto The Turd for Shoe scene.

Exhibit B: Dear Fancy Jesus! I call these ones the Steamy Turds for Shoes -- these actually have ventilation holes in them, that way if your feet get hot inside your turds (which they probably will since we've all seen a steaming turd and can assume -- by subjecting it to analytical tests and water displacement theory -- that it is hot) there are little open windows for a passing breeze to ease on through.

Exhibit C. The Ugg Turd. Don't wear these while you wave your hands in the air like you just don't care and overbite your bottom lip, because I can already tell that you care deeply. Particularly since it's pretty warm out and I see you in a short sleeved shirt. BUT wait. Is that a winter hat I see on your head? I think it is, and I think that hat may be any of the following: a beanie with stripes on it, a bomber or sherpa hat involving earflaps and/or a snowflake/ nordic animal/ pseudo ethnic pattern, or finally, a hat with ears or balls on it that is truly meant for a child. Shame!

Exhibit D. Sketchers now makes The Turd for Shoe as well, in case you wish to get fancy-pants with seaming. I like to call this particular model "The Cleveland Seamer" because of the much ado about all those superfluous seams and the extra benefit of a SIMULTANEOUSLY slightly squared AND rounded toe Turd.

And there, my friends…you have it.  While there are many, many, many more examples I could highlight in this post — of the atrocities against woman kind that The Turd for Shoe has committed — I do not like tears, particularly not my own.  And so I’ll bid you “Adieu” until next time.

Repellantly yours,

Lady Bianca Miller

Dia Bacon

In inspiration, Society, Uncategorized on April 22, 2012 at 7:24 am

Darling ones,

You’ve been wondering what I’ve been up to…I know, I know!  I simply had to get away at once and spend some time on sabbatical from the New York party scene.  I tell you I was simply on the verge of completely falling apart at the seams if you will…(tee hee!  that’s a little sartorial joke).  Evenings of foie gras and champagne may seem glamorous, but it will certainly take it’s toll…this my dear friends, is a cautionary tale…

Quite irritato upon arriving at my little country estate. In The Great Hall, darlings. Just simply pooped from my travels!

Entertaining is no laughing matter! It is simply exhausting and country folk can be just as challenging as New Yorkers...here you can see I actually had to drink myself under the table, just to cope.

...spent some time in the foyer contemplating the existence of the American Dream, the arbitrariness of fate, the merits of the Keilbasa over the Weisswurst....

...found myself in the kitchen snacking more than I had intended...I blame it on that fresh country air. Thoughts of smoked bacon haunted my mind...

As you can see it's virtually impossible for me to get ANY privacy these days!

Waiting anxiously to be served my afternoon tea in the sun room...it really IS impossible to find good help...particularly in the country...

I'd heard wonderful things about the museum but was disappointed to find NONE of the art work had actually anything to do with Bacon. Shame! If I hadn't been trying to unwind from my grueling work life, I would have called Consumer Affairs immediately!

I took many an afternoon constitutional...this particular day I was accompanied by one of my many gentleman callers...

...the great outdoors can be so inspirational...and a wonderful place to poop in private!

....spent a great deal of time curled up in the library with a Trollope novel, trying to regain brain cells lost on New Year's eve..."The Way We Live Now" is a wonderful read and makes a fantastic doorstop once finished! I simply adore duality in purpose.

...an hour of yoga a day helps to relax tension in my odd yet gloriously shaped body...

...attempted transcendental meditation in the sitting room with White Owl but for crying out loud, it is just so stressful! I had to chase each session with a large dry gin martini, three olives.

...took to resting in the upstairs hall before dinner time...

...washing up before bedtime in the master bath....you can see how historic preservation runs in my blood. How could anyone think of getting rid of such fabulous 1940s wallpaper?

....I finally get to retire after a grueling day of attempting to relax...

And there folks, you have it…If, like me, you work too hard — you may find yourself having to take a trip to the country for relaxation and inspiration.  And as you can see from this photo journey, attempting to relax can be very stressful indeed!

Trancendentally yours,
Bianca Miller

Heavy is the Head that Wears the Crown

In Adventure, Celebrity, Etiquette, Fashion, Nemesis, Night Life, Romance, Slander, Society, Style on October 29, 2011 at 3:47 pm

Dearest friends and loyal fans,

Admittedly, it has been quite sometime since you have heard from me.  Although I feel in no way obligated to, as a lady of clout and social stature, I find it prudent to recap an abridged version of my activities — my comings and goings since I left you last.  This is not an excuse — but merely an explanation for my extended sabatical from blogging.

As I have lamented before, life can be such a struggle for a lady of my position!  It is not all coming up roses and little pieces of cut up sausage for Lady Bianca Miller.  Behind the veneer of glamourous parties, fabulous events, and sordid love affairs — there is a dark side my friends, a dark side.

And because so much time has passed since I have shared with you in this forum, I shall edit fiercely and attempt to catch you up to date swiftly.  I left you last sometime just before Fashion week.  As you can imagine, I get dozens of invitations from people desiring me to attend their event, show or party even for a few moments!  And while I can’t accept them all, I am higlighting a few of many of the events I lent my fame to that week:

Here, front row at the Zac Posen show, I snapped a photo of my old pal Sessilee Lopez. Of course I was asked to walk the show but due to a strained paw, I was unable to accept the kind offer. I imagine it was somewhat for the best as I tend to overshadow the rest of the girls, and it is a good show of generosity of spirit to give others their time to shine.

Later, backstage, I caught up with my good friend Anna Wintour (you can see her pictured here seated front row, catty-corner from me). Of course we were originally supposed to sit next to each other so I could lend an ear to her sometimes tedious inquisitions into my aesthetic interpretations of the sartorial floor show, but there was a mix up in the seating arrangements and I, not wanting to cause a stir, decided to do the graceful thing and yield to any deliberation on the matter.

After attending countless other fashion shows that week, I found it proper to take my adoring staff to happy hour at Maison Premiere where they offer all varieties of superior bivalve molluscs, all at $1 a peice!  Imagine!  Naturally, we had to give them all a go:

The stunning ladies of Eponymy, Amanda and Claire, ready to indulge in celebration of Eponymy's 3rd birthday. Dry Kir Royales and oysters? Yes please!

Though curvy in the right areas, I am also blessed with a speedy metabolism and so I do fully enjoy the luxuries of partaking in a second course at none other than Fette Sau.

Of course we found it only proper to end the evening with a Miller High Life toast to Eponymy, MHL being our eponymous beverage.

In addition to our private celebration, I decided it would be kind to support the industry and allow others celebrate the 3rd birthday of my little shop, Eponymy, by throwing a small soiree:

Here I am at my little shop, Eponymy, with my dear friend who occasionally helps me get things together. Generally, she can be a bit lazy about things you know. It is just so difficult to find good help these days!

I was able to secure my friend Stephane Wrembel to play the party:

Stephane has composed and performed the soundtracks to Woody Allen's "Midnight in Paris" and "Vicky Christina Barcelona" among other achievements. It was a glorious evening of lovely Gypsy Jazz. I say, I do know how to throw a party!

There is a possibility that while rehashing old glory days with my dear artist friend Thomas Brown, who has sculpted my likeness (I am somewhat of a muse to him), I may have consumed one too many Miller High Life beverages.

The lovely Emma Hoette who is both an accomplished modern dancer and costume designer, was also enjoying drinks from our favorite neighborhood bar, Weatherup! Unfortunately, I may have also represented in an entirely different way by perhaps slightly overindulging on the delicious cocktail selection they offered.

Of course, what really put me over the top was when the rock and roll crowd came tearing through the gathering.  One of my absolute dearest friends in the world and talented singer and muse, Lisa Ronson, daughter of the late, legendary Bowie guitarist, Mick Ronson showed up (late of course).  You know how those rock and roll characters can be!  Well one moment I’m innocently sipping camomile tea in a quiet corner and the next moment I’m drinking straight from a bottle of Jack and breaking musical intruments over senior citizen’s heads!

Here is Miss Ronson looking uncharacteristically demure in the presence of uber design, branding and merchandising stylist extraordinaire Alan Rohwer.

Well, it wasn’t just wild child Ronson’s doing.  Soon enough my friends and neighbors Ian Hultquist and Sofia Degli Alessandri of Passion Pit and Aislyn joined us and I soon began to enter a dark territory I believe I have heard many rock and rollers call “shit-can-drunk.”

Captured here in an inordinately modest and reserved moment, as soon as the cameras were off, Ian and Sophia started ripping the heads off small animals with their (lovely) teeth!

Well I kept up appearances and socialized for as long as I could...

...but I am afraid towards the end of the evening I had to retire somewhat earlier than anticipated...

...and naturally exhausted from several long weeks of festivities, I had to be escorted upstairs to my more comfortable residential abode...

Single?  CALL ME.  718-789-0301.

That my friends, is when the evening took a disastrous turn towards the devastatingly scandalous. Somehow, delirious and still tipsy from the evening, I wound up in the bath with an on again/off again romantic interest of mine. I can only assume that whilst passing through, he saw the necklace around my neck (by Diament Designs) reading "Available" and assumed that I was interested in rekindling our relationship.

...and of course the next morning....

...amongst all the kerfuffle...My Nemesis arrived on the scene to catch me in an amorous embrace with my gentleman suitor, Meatball.

I will tell you one thing.  Meatball was a perfect gentleman, even bringing me a breakfast in bed of chili cheese and bacon hot dogs, crispy pork sandwich and bratwurst with bacon braised sauerkraut from his splendid little restaurant Bark Hot Dogs.

But I am afraid, however, as glamourous as all of this sounds, I awoke the next day in a first class seat to Palm Springs, Florida where I escaped for several intensive days of detoxification, yoga and spa so I could get my head on straight for crying out loud!

I find the sun salutations so grounding in this crazy, crazy world we live in.

Oh, the pressures of fame!  I’ll tell you, friends, New Yorkians and countrymen, it’s certainly not all it’s cracked up to be!

And that, my friends, although an abridged version, should catch you up to date on my activities over the past few.  Pity me?  Gracious no!  I am a strong woman of substance and persistance and I shall laugh wholeheartedly and maybe even cough up an undesirable piece of phlegm (it is cold season now) in the cruel face of adversity.

With much due respect to my faithful fans,

Bianca Miller

Walk of Fame

In Adventure, Celebrity, Night Life, Society on August 21, 2011 at 12:21 am

Greetings darling ones,

As many of you probably know entirely too well…it is just SO difficult to find good help these days!  Egads!

Particularly when one finds oneself inexorably thrust into the public spotlight as often as yours truly, one needs to be able to rely on fine gentlemen of the ample and lofty persuasion.  This little post is dedicated to my squires of the night, the men who protect and serve me.  My, ehem, watchdogs.

Daniel and Dominique, the finest personal security detail this side of the Gowanus Canal, coming to my rescue one Friday evening when I became absolutely overwhelmed by enamored fans and bothersome Paparazzi.

Antoine calls on Sir Michael for back up one exceedingly perturbing evening when I was bombarded by a pack of wild and worshiping fans.

It was rumoured I particpated in an affair of an unsavory nature with squire Dominique but that of course is rubbish! Pure rubbish I say!

And that, my friends, is a tiny window into the life of a true Star.  It’s not always as glamorous as it’s cracked up to be. Goodness gracious me.

Mindfully yours,

Bianca Miller

Bartender is the Night

In Celebrity, Night Life, Philanthropy, Society on August 4, 2011 at 12:20 am

Hello my pretties.

Isn’t it lovely when two of your favorite things arrive in one package?

If, like me, you find this heat to be reaching your upper threshold of comfort, may I suggest it be taken as a cue to catch up on some much needed reflection. Although the white color of my coat is perfect for bouncing back the sun’s harshest rays, I do find myself crossing the line from glowing to perspiring if I attempt any physical activity while wearing fur. Therefore I like to spend my city time in July indoors, ideally with a refreshing cordial of some kind. Nothing quite calms the senses like an expertly served Pimms I always say! Which brings me to the first of my favorite things: Brooklyn bartenders.

Having been in the privileged position of residing in this fine borough since my social debut, I have come to know and frequent some truly fabulous watering holes. Inevitably, my discerning eye has been drawn to those barkeeps whose deportment and repartee never fail to delight. I have found that my very favorites tend to share certain traits which I will, in turn, share with you.

My ideal bartender is a snappy dresser with a monosyllabic name like Paul, John or Floyd. They will be neither aloof nor overbearing but rather will, on occasion, share exotic tales from southern states. They will read interesting books and keep their money not in the bank but in gold. In times of great distress they will even encourage you to order your drink by specifying a liquor and an adjective. Indeed one of the most life affirming beverages I have ever tasted was presented to me in response to the description of ‘bourbon’ and ‘forlorn’. To further salve my soul this was accompanied by a touching description of Degas’ The Absinthe Drinker, which fit my mood perfectly.

The second of my favorite things is of course a man with a heart. Nothing in this world warms my soul in quite the same way. And so it is that when I first heard of The Barman’s Fund I was filled with a delicious cocktail of sensations, capturing everything from lust to pride to altruistic bliss – and back to lust again. In their own words their mission is simple,  ‘a bunch of bartenders take every penny they make on the first shift of the month and pool it, and then give it to various charities (Figuring that most community charities would much rather have 6 hrs of tips than 6 hrs of us washing dishes).’ This, I found myself thinking, is surely one of the most enjoyable ways to multitask, spending social and charitable time at once.

A glorious specimen of manhood, our dear friend John (he graces the bar at both the Vanderbilt and Weatherup) of The Barman's Fund braves the lines of target to buy diapers for nearby CHIPS maternity shelter.

I’m also happy to say the man behind the fund is an old friend, Floyd. I have a great deal of lovely things to say about him but fear I would make him blush. So I will leave it to you to see for yourselves – if you find yourself in Prospect Heights he’ll be the dapper gentleman behind the bar at The Vanderbilt.

Stopped by for a summer afternoon of bar therapy with Sir Floyd and a thumble full of Eponymy's eponymous Miller High Life.

Charitably yours,

Bianca Miller

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The Gilded Age of Slander

In Dining, Romance, Slander, Society on July 19, 2011 at 11:49 am

I am sure by now you are well aware that I’ve had some ongoing, gratuitous and frankly appalling issues with the media.  If you read my previous entry regarding the numerous venomous articles painting me as a carouser a, party girl, even a floozy, then you’ll understand the history here. Why for heaven’s sake!  Egregious, just egregious these accusations!

Of course as a socialite, a philanthropist and a popular member of this fine city’s inner elite circles, I happen to have many admirers!  Being a gracious hostess and an expert on social propriety, I have found myself generously lending my presence to a variety of suitors, associates and gentlemen callers.  This is solely out of duty, out of politeness and out of manners.  Unavoidably, photographs surfaced taken by My Nemesis and the press that were edited out of context and assembled in a way which presented me as a woman of ill repute!  One can’t imagine my despair!  How simply awful!

While dining at a business associate's home, I ate some bad shellfish and had the worst bout of food poisoning! He was merely comforting me and checking my vitals to make sure I was metabolizing adequately!

My dear friend and I had merely fallen asleep after taking a grueling spinning class and My Nemesis caught us in this completely misrepresented position which makes it appear as if there was some type of hanky-panky going on! Good gracious no!

After working my paws to the bone in the shop for ONE whole hour straight, of course became absolutely exhausticated! It's no wonder!

Admittedly, I was showing interest in my former actor flame, Arrow Shwartzman. But as I mentioned before, the pressure of our combined fame proved too steep of an obstacle to maintain the relationship.

While out for after-work drinks I excused myself from the table to go to the powder room when My Nemesis caught a quick photo of me in an awkward moment with a gentleman acquaintance ! Alas!

Even when disguised, the paparazzi seems to somehow recognize me and capture incriminating photographs of me with persons of the gentleman persuasion.

Here I am pictured on a lunch date with one of my gentleman callers, Meatball. Meatball owns the popular restaurant, Bark Hot Dogs down the block. Rumors swirled that I was opportunistically forming a relationship with Meatball based on my love of hot dogs but that is of course patently ridiculous! I was drawn to dear Meatball for his strong masculine physique, his under-bite and snaggle-tooth, and his vague resemblance to a cod fish. Sweet tender affection!

I had been slaving over a hot stove all day when I just absolutely collapsed! My gentleman friend just happened to be there to break my fall!

Here I was merely showing one of my suitors, Zeus, the finest new merchandise that had arrived at my store. It was completely innocent! Really!

I had been overseeing a huge in store event and I absolutely collapsed by the end of the night!

Again, in a disgusting invasion of privacy, My Nemesis captured a nap-time photo and distributed it to the international tabloids.

Here I was reminiscing with some old friends from my favorite music venue, Southpaw, when a member of the press captured me in an awkward moment which appears to be a passionate embrace. Good lord!

Here I was captured during a high-fashion photo shoot with my dear friend who owns a precious little coffee shop on Classon Avenue in Brooklyn called Glass Shop. I had something in my eye and he was simply trying to help me get it out! There was nothing unsavory about our interaction whatsoever!

While strolling in my neighborhood I was bombarded by a pack of gentleman fans, asking for my autograph and wanting to ask me about my latest projects! I was positively overwhelmed but of course I obliged, not wanting to hurt anyone's feelings.

So, my dear friends, as I have time and again proven, the camera can absolutely lie.  As a lady of grace, charm and generosity, sometimes my kind nature can be taken advantage of by the camera and manipulated in a way to paint me as a…hussy.  I am just beside myself!  It is all  highly  distressing and worrisome, but I count on my fans like you to renounce these lies and follow your senses in being assured that I am a pious woman of substance and virtue.

Anxiously yours,

Bianca Miller

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Bianca Miller High Life

In Adventure, Etiquette, Nemesis, Night Life, Slander, Society on June 23, 2011 at 3:41 pm

As many of my closest friends know from experience, being a public figure in New York City has its advantages and disadvantages. In fame, as in life, you have to take the créme bruleé with the reduced fat non dairy cream cheese, so to speak.

Far be it from me to complain but I feel I must also make a stand to protect my privacy, my stature and indeed my hard-earned reputation as a lady of style, grace, humor and modesty.

I am referring, of course, to the sustained, unjustified and frankly disturbing nature of the sullying of my name carried out by the person I refer to, for legal reasons, only as My Nemesis.

While answering a run of the mill question on modern dining etiquette by a delightful visitor to our store, I was discussing the relative suitability of various summer drink options available to the fashionable girl about town. Having recommended some fine wines (I have been VERY keen on Grüner Veltliner lately) available from our friends at Sip, I went on to describe those drinks which were to be avoided at all costs; appletinis, anything endorsed by a rapper, beverages with bright colors not found in nature, and any beer that is not Eponymy’s eponymous beer: (Bianca) Miller High Life of course — “The Champagne of Beers.”

Now there is a time to drink, and a time for business.  Sometimes they intermingle, often they don’t.  In order to fully demonstrate the ungainly figure cut by a lady with a beverage at an unsuitable time of day, I kindly offered to pose beside a glass of beer during business hours. Naturally, this was solely for the purposes of instructing an eager student.

In a heinous act of malice and misrepresentation, this very moment was captured by My Nemesis and subsequently distributed to various gossip columnists around the city as a shameful attempt to paint me as a fallen woman.

Bianca Miller High Life

Of course, not such a long time later, while socializing with business associates at one of my local spots, The Flatbush Farm, the press showed up to document my whereabouts and captured me in several compromising angles making it appear as if I am overly enthusiastic and concerned about social lubrication.

I was merely chuckling at a preposterous comment my dear friend made regarding the paradox of the human condition!

Here I was simply grinning regarding a series of simply hil-ar-ious military-industrial complex knock-knock jokes told by my favorite bartender.

So you can see, as a socialite and philanthropist I simply must make public appearances and rub elbows with the elite.  But you can also ascertain how an innocent appearance can be turned into a false portrait of debauchery.  I’m just beside myself!

Just a year ago, you can take note of another photo captured by My Nemesis during a party beneifiting the arts.

See here, my gentleman friend slipped and I ended up falling into the beer. It was an absolutely frightening experience!

THEN — and this is an extreme example of privacy violation, I was holidaying at my darling country home in Guilford, Connecticut, relaxing by the pool with an afternoon beer, when I was bombarded by those awful paparazzi!  Now Guilford is a beautiful, relatively unscathed town that has not yet fallen victim to the precious, overly manicured towns of the more populated areas of Fairfield County.  How on Earth did they locate me there!

If one can't enjoy an afternoon beer at one's country home in peace for crying out loud, what on Earth is the world coming to!

And so it falls to me to firmly deny any wrongdoing and leave it to my trust in you, my dear friends, to judge who is wrong and who is sorely in need of litigation.

Yours indignantly,

Bianca Miller

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