STYLE ADVENTURE ETIQUETTE

Archive for the ‘Style’ 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 Bitch Bench of Bergen Street Style: Part I

In Adventure, Etiquette, Fashion, inspiration, Style on July 16, 2012 at 1:58 pm

My fond admirers,

You may have read my recent post entitled The Lady (Bianca) Repeller: The Turd for Shoe.  It’s a revolutionary and important dissertation in which I decry “The Turd for Shoe” which I deftly define as the following:

“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.”

Well my fine friends, in addition to pointing out some flagrant abominations on the part of the human (particularly of the male persuasion) in making some gross errors when considering how to ornament oneself, I felt it prudent to lend my critical and adroit eye in pointing out creatures who have attained a level of lovely sartorial inclination.

And so, without further much ado about nothing, I would like to present my first in a series presented by yours truly entitled: “The Bitch Bench of Bergen Street Style.”  The Bitch Bench of Bergen Street, I should point out, is a dear little bench that sits outside Eponymy.  The bench exists, ostensibly, to provide an area for passerby and bored husbands of female shoppers to sit (preferably good-naturedly and not talking loudly on cell phones, chain-smoking or starting rubbish piles, ehem) while they wait for their loved ones.  In actuality, The Bitch Bench of Bergen Street is a platform which allows for myself and Eponymy staff and friends to both release anxieties among each other, and to gather inspiration from passerby.

In this series I choose a customer from my dear store who has somehow caught my eye and inspired me aesthetically, take a quick photo and I ask them a few questions in order to give the photograph a little flavor (I tend to veer towards lamb but everyone is different).  And so, without further hesitation, I present to you our first profile in this series.  And many, many thanks to Jillian, our lovely and gracious first subject for her willingness to participate and for her patience.

I adored how simple and lovely Jillian looked even in the vile heat and humidity of the day. She took a classic, basic look but added an unexpected twist by pairing a white tee and pink skirt with orange and yellow accessories. Nothing is either ostentatious nor matchy-matchy but it’s also not predictable. Oh, and I don’t know if you can see from here, but her toenails are painted a gorgeous 1950s kitchen appliance mint color. Brava Jillian.

Name: Jillian

Occupation: Producer

What she bought at Eponymy:  Cropped beige and white ikat AG Jeans, cream mesh detailed Mink Pink shorts.

What brings you to Bergen Street today? We were eating lunch at Sun in Bloom!  It was really good.

Are you pro or anti pickle?  pro pickle

Describe one of your most bizarre NYC experiences or sightings:

Oh jeeze.  There have been so many it’s difficult to narrow it down.  Well, I’ll give you one of the most recent.  The other day I saw a woman on the corner who was so strung out she had completely lost all sense of depth perception (and I’m sure other things) and so she was trying to drink a Mc Flurry that was melting rapidly because it was so hot outside but she was holding it at arms distance away and trying drink it from there and she just couldn’t quite figure out how to make it work – how to get the cup to her mouth so she could drink.  Very odd sight.

And there you have our first “Bitch Bench of Bergen Street Style” edition.  Until next time my dear fans,

Bianca Miller

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

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

Minimalist Chic for a Lady of Strength

In Fashion, Style on July 9, 2011 at 3:38 pm

It is difficult not to have caught wind through the media’s constant references (“Madame Beanut,” “Lady Bianca Manatee,” “Burrito Miller,” “Sausage Shaped Goddess,” “Nugget of Love”, etc.) that  my curvaceous figure has become quite the subject of interest and fascination both here in New York and internationally.

Whether one is singularly admiring my lean muscle tone, my soft curves, or my delicate bone structure, it is really both the sum of those three parts, and the capacity of the sartorial element to compliment and enhance my lady figure — that packs the biggest punch in the end.  Mark Twain once said, “Clothes make the man; Naked people have little or no influence on society.”

Well, Mr. Twain died some years ago, but luckily we have Zac Posen to remind us how clothing should fit a lady and enhance her best features.  His new line, Z Spoke, focuses on expertly cut feminine dresses at reasonable prices.  Just darling, I say!  Sir Posen describes “Z Spoke” as a line for the strong-willed business woman who transforms into an elegant, downtown creature at night.  Well for goodness sake, there couldn’t be a more suitable description for yours truly!  I’m almost convinced Mr. Posen is speaking directly about me!

Photo of me in my little shop, Eponymy, taken by Erika Larsen for Inc Magazine. Notice my curvaceous hips in perfect harmony with the intricate tone of my abdominal muscles. Exactly the type of attributes showcased by Zac Posen's Z Spoke line.

At any rate, several Z Spoke styles are now available at Eponymy, my little store on Bergen Street in Brooklyn!  Below are a few of them, though I have to say the photos do not do these dresses justice and I would wholeheartedly recommend dropping in to see how one of these lovelies looks and feels on!

Cotton Jersey Backless Dress

Stretch Core Suiting Flare Dress

Stretch Core Suiting Pencil Skirt

Until we meet again.  Stylishly yours,

Bianca Miller

Art Tour Extraordinaire: Part I

In Adventure, Art, Society, Style on June 14, 2011 at 12:41 am

Now, I believe I’ve already mentioned my involvement in numerous social circles in our fine city. However I have yet to touch on my keen interest and pivotal role in the art world.  Indeed I have dear friends at Humble Arts Foundation, where I sit on the board and at  mr. and mrs. amaniolu — the curator of the wonderful collection for sale at my little store Eponymy.

As a patron, trendsetter, dealer and muse, naturally I am constantly being invited to gallery openings and events. What with my other commitments it’s frankly impossible to even attend a fraction of them. Exhaustication! That said, much as I enjoy hobbnobbing with a glass of wine and eavesdropping on conversations regarding false pretensions of metaphysical idealism, I also like to take it to the street and assess the more accessible delicacies of the art world.

Therefore, when I was asked to take a mini tour of some recent public art in Manhattan,  I decided to make time in my positively overloaded schedule to lend a skillful eye to the masses.

Driver! Take me to the venue!

I was picked up on Saturday morning by my driver Vladimir, a rather pleasantly plump fellow (notwithstanding the Russian prison tattoos on his hands and the gun shot wound in the side of his head). Our dear friend Alan Rohwer was in tow with my iced cappuccino, which was a blessing as I was absolutely parched. The scale of Alan’s artistic genius and talent is virtually insurmountable (why he nearly holds a candle to my achievements!) so naturally it was favorable to have him along for the ride.

Our first stop, The Helmsley Palace (these days known as The New York Palace), featured an exhibition in my honor. How spectacular the sculpture, and how kind it was of the guards to escort me down the red carpet to the base of the sculpture where I was photographed for what seemed like an honest to god eternity by those pesky paparazzi. Good lord. But one must oblige sometimes I suppose, especially when homage is shown on such a grand scale.

The sculpture itself, crafted by Julien Marienetti,  showed such attention to scale, such precise acknowledgement of my bone structure, my luxurious curves, the indent in the middle of my frontal lobe, the delicate folds in my face and neck – all diametrically opposed with the angular modern lines of the painted surfaces and vibrant colors. Gracious me! Pure Heavenly Goodness!

Take a look here, for a small style tip.  I decided to don a low-maintenance sporty outfit that day a lá Katherine Hepburn.  It is quite grotesque to look ostentatious at an event in one’s own honor:

Thank you kind city of New York! Thank you!

Once my appearance was made, we were on our way.  Vladimir suggested another location – a spot on Park Avenue boasting Swiss artist Urs Fischer’s 20 ton brass teddy bear.  While I don’t expect the subject matter of every public art work to reflect my grace and delicate facial structure, I have to say the lines did not please me aesthetically at all. Shame!

Botheration!

It’s in the bag

In Style on June 2, 2011 at 10:00 am

Proud as I am of my modest achievements in life; my modeling career, my broad social circle and my vintage outerwear collection, I cannot say I’ve ever been driven academically. Those with the ability to focus on the far distant prospect of professional practice, and study tirelessly to that end, have my respect and admiration.

This is not to say that I envy them. On the contrary, I believe that in life as in fashion, one should always follow one’s heart and play to one’s strengths. As such my heart and talents have steered me towards a rich and fulfilling life in this, the most fabulous of cities.

I will confess however, to a long standing penchant for the exquisite leather goods that I believe are unfairly hoarded by the professions. Briefcases, satchels and particularly Doctor’s bags have a special place in my heart and wardrobe and I think it’s high time the doctors, lawyers and their ilk learned to share.

My dear friend Ms. Miller, whose little store I may have mentioned, having had to hear my thoughts on the subject perhaps once too often, recently took delivery of some very handsome bags that to my mind are just the ticket.

See for yourself

Democratically,

Bianca Miller

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