Pink on Parade

Robbie Ross of the Jewel Box Revue, ca. early 1960's (via Queer Music Heritage)

British fashion designer Enid Boulting, 1961

Balenciaga, 1965

TJB, Easter Sunday, 2011

It's Our Birthday!

And, yes, we do intend to rock out with our cock out.

See You Soon!

Darlings, we're taking a very brief sabbatical and will return in a few days. Rest asssured, we will be hard at work, preparing fresh batches of fabulosity to spring upon you soon.

Just a Reminder

If you can dream it...



You can be it.

Stranded

Darlings, please forgive our silence -- this massive snowstorm stranded us since Sunday in the middle of nowhere without a laptop, cel phone charger, fresh underwear or a toothbrush. In short, it's been three of the worst days we've ever had to muddle through. Now that we're finally back home, we're still tired, irritable, and plan on brushing our teeth at least 20 times per day for the next week. Therefore, we will likely not have any updates until the New Year. Thanks for your patience and understanding, and for all of your wit, wisdom and support in 2010!

Ciao from Italy

Snapshots from our October vacation.

Summer Vacation

Darlings, we're taking a brief hiatus from posting for a while. Not terribly long; just enough to recharge our fabulosity batteries. We'd also like to send birthday wishes out to a dedicated follower of SSUWAT!

See you soon, possums!

Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are...

In addition to our fabulous regulars (or irregulars, if you like), we realize that there are quite a few SSUWAT readers who don't comment often, or at all. But now we call upon you to reveal yourselves in your full flower! We want the whole scoop, darlings: who you are, where you're from, what brought you here, what you'd like to see more of! Don't be shy - tell us everything!

Pretty in Pink?

Think Pink

For some reason, the S/S sales at Bergdorf seem to put us in a very pink mood. Two years ago, it was the infamous fuchsia pants. This year, it was this lovely coral linen number by Simon Spurr:


We decided to forego the bloom, opting instead for a crisp white shirt; a raw silk bow tie in jewel tones; a pocket square in Persian green with large orange dots; silver silk mohair trousers; and cognac benchmades. We had never tried the Spurr label before, and were delighted to find that we could buy it right off the rack, without any alterations whatsoever - the length and the sleeves were perfect, as well as the fit. Our next mission: to find pale green and pale yellow linen trousers to wear with this for the rest of the summer.

Hello, Fashion Lovers

A reader recently contacted us, and said that we reminded them of the "fashionista" commentator featured in a series of amusing television spots for the Canadian discount chain, Reitman's.

What sayeth thou, loyal friends?

Beggin' You for Mercy

This was us at the doctor's office today, begging him for relief from our double-whammy of tonsilitis and sinusitis. Updates to follow when we actually feel human again.

Separated at Birth...

Taiwanese internet sensation Lin Yu Chun

TJB in a former life

...joined by bow ties.

Thanks (we think) to Mistress MJ!

Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow

Greetings from New York!

Stay warm and fabulous, darlings!

The Winter of Our Discontent

It recently occured to us that we've been neglectful in commenting on our friends' blogs. It isn't because we don't care, darlings - because we do! The holidays are a mad rush for us (at our throats, as Noel Coward would say); since we usually only have time to absorb all of your marvelous blogs in one breathless sitting, we often feel insufficiently witty to leave comments. But trust us: we do check in, and giggle, and goggle, and occasionally gleefully glom your photos (e.g., Infomaniac, from whence this sensitive study of Miss Shelley Winters was stolen). So if at words poetic we're so pathetic these days, please be patient and understanding, possums. We love you!

In Case You Were Wondering...

...we had a delicious time at the party we attended on Friday the 13th. It was a soiree which Dorothy Draper would have adored: gracious hosts; an elegant, modern setting; charming and amusing guests; plentiful, simple, delicious food; cold champagne; and a marvelous air of sophisticated informality. The biggest thrill, though, was that among the guests was none other than Miss Marilyn Maye herself.

TJB, the marvelous Marilyn Maye and one of our handsome hosts, Drew Stevens

To discuss, however casually and briefly, song craft, stage technique, and the work of Johnny Mercer with one of the truly great stylists wasn't just a thrill, but an honor. Even better was discovering that Marilyn Maye is not only just as glamorous and charming as she appears on stage, but also as down to earth and funny. It was a most delightful evening, a party with the kind of flair and panache that can only be found in New York. Thank you, Drew and Dan, for giving us an opportunity to dress up and mingle with honest-to-goodness glamour.

Rome is Eternal...

...but our youth, sadly, is not.

This past vacation gave us the shocking revelation that we aren't as young as we were 14 years ago, when we visited Rome for the first time. We were like Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday then; this time around, we felt more like Vivien Leigh in The Roman Spring of Mrs. Stone.

We flew out, as per usual, on a Thursday night flight, departing New York's JFK airport at 9:55 p.m., to arrive Friday at noon, local Rome time. It's the best way to do it, really; you can get all the little odds and ends taken care of during the day of your flight, and then, if you're lucky, have some semblance of a normal night's sleep while you're in the air. This time, we slept for nearly the entire duration of the flight - which was blessedly quiet, 99% of the travelers consisting of Italians returning home, rather than chatty American tour groups. After a quiet, uneventful trip, we breezed through passport control and baggage claim, and headed for our favorite destination in the world: the St. Regis Grand Hotel.


There really is no other hotel in the world like the Grand. The Gritti Palace in Venice comes awfully close, but the Grand still wins because of its unique combination of old world glamour, modern comfort, hushed professionalism, and unexpected warmth. When our taxi pulls up and the doorman opens the door for us, there's always a surprised, pleased smile, and a genuine "Why, welcome back! It's nice to see you again!"

By the time we had unpacked, freshened up, and changed clothes, it was nearly 3:30 in the afternoon. As anyone who's traveled in Italy knows, the Italians observe strictly set dining times: lunch is from 12:30 till 3, and dinner served only after 7:30 (at the very earliest). We had already planned an itinerary of favorite restaurants for our meals, and didn't want to spoil our appetite by snacking, so we did our next favorite thing to eating in Rome: shopping in Rome. The legendary Via Condotti, at the bottom of the Spanish Steps, is like Madison Avenue, Rodeo Drive, and avenue Montaigne in one glorious mash-up. It didn't take us very long to decide on our one purchase: a pair of a.testoni lace-ups in dark grey.

Our new kicks were from the lower-rung New Studium line, but hey, times are tough. And, frankly, these looked nicer than the more expensive lines. Anyway, gone are the days when we would burn the credit card up and down the Condotti, armed with enough packages and parcels to necessitate the purchase of another piece of luggage. With our single shopping bag in hand, we strolled the streets, headed toward one of our favorite sights, the Pantheon. By now, it was 5 p.m., and the hunger pangs were so loud, we were afraid that passers-by would hear them. The look on TJB's face in front of the Pantheon says it all:


Are those jowls that we see???

Right after this pic was snapped, it was back to the Grand, where we immediately crashed on the bed and slept for four hours. We then headed for dinner at our favorite Roman trattoria, Santopadre. The hostess, Dina, greeted us like long-lost family, with busses on both cheeks and immediately bringing out plates of our favorite part of their massive antipasti - savory polpette with carrot and red chili puree. Then it was on to chewy, perfectly al dente rigatoni with oxtail, and finally braised lamb shanks. Perfection.

There was also a complimentary bottle of very good red, which pretty much finished us off for the evening. In all the years we've been traveling, jet lag has never been a problem, and we've been able to walk the hilly Roman streets, eat with gusto, and drink more vino than we ever would at home, with no ill effects. Time, it seems, has finally caught up with our systems, and we were back in bed by 11 p.m.

The following day, we awoke with a burst of energy at 7 a.m., and immediately began taking in more of the sights, including the Vatican. We also returned to the Spanish Steps, and seemed to have left our jet lag behind us.

But, o jet lag, ye merry prankster! By noon, we were feeling a little weary; by lunchtime, we were practically falling asleep, face down in our soup. Next on the agenda: another four hour nap. We had officially turned into our parents.

Sunday was our last full day in Rome. We had had great meals, visited a few of our favorite sights, done a spot of shopping and enjoyed bright, brisk weather; but we had spent at least 24 of the past 48 hours asleep. The irony is that our minds and bodies suddenly seemed to snap to attention and gain some equilibrium on that final day; we walked from the Grand back to the Via Condotti for a pseudo-breakfast of espresso and biscotti at Greco's, strolled back to the Pantheon to have lunch, and then walked all the way up to the Via Veneto to visit the gorgeous Villa Borghese - and did it all without requiring a nap.

As the day ended, we lingered over our final cocktails in the Grand's quiet bar. It was bittersweet, knowing that we would be leaving the following morning, and realizing that while Rome pretty much never changes, we had. It was still wonderful being there, of course; but we kept wondering, what had happened to us? What we were grateful for, was that we had seized the opportunity 14 years ago to make these Roman holidays a reality. We'd done and seen it all, and had done it while we still had the energy and vigor - unlike, say, TJB's father, who went to Europe for the first time at age 64, and despite having a marvelous trip, was practically in traction when he came back from all the walking. In the end, we realized that our perspective and enjoyment of Rome had shifted and changed - mellowed, maybe, to the point where the greatest pleasures were simply sitting quietly over a limoncello, or the dazzling people watching while slowly promenading the streets.

And, of course, the warmth of the people - from the doorman welcoming us back, to Dina plying us with food and wine, to the funny and charming bartenders who remembered our table and our order before we ever sat down. The people never change, and that's why we keep coming back.

Packing Our Grip

September and October have been dreadful, darlings, with 50-60 hour work weeks keeping us from you. And we have truly missed you! We are off on a much-needed Roman holiday for the next week; after we return, the rest of this fall/winter season promises to be just as hectic as it has been, but we are determined to get back in the Stirred Up swing of things again. Thank you, as always, for your patience and loyalty; you guys make it all worthwhile!

Weekly Feature #9

I is for... Inspiration (versus Imitation).

Lana Turner looks horrified at the suggestion that her Jean Louis original may be an Imitation of Life.

When we were clumsily forming our own taste and style, back in the Dark Ages prior to the Internet, we were pretty much on our own, armed only with movies and GQ magazine as guideposts. The results weren't always great (in fact, they were largely awful), but we made our mistakes, learned from them, and gradually developed our sense of self and, consequently, our sense of style.

In the 1980's, GQ was our life raft of style. Somehow, we survived.

Today, we marvel at the sharp, shiny, cookie-cutter pristineness of modern teenagers who flawlessly mimic the looks they've seen on Gossip Girl and The Hills. In some ways, we slightly envy the bevy of information available at their fingertips in this media-saturated age: simply copying, look for look and lock for lock, the "style" of these celebrities goes a long way towards smoothing out the bumps of what used to be the awkward years. We've seen 13 year old girls looking like eerie Rachel Zoe clones, and their 14 year old boyfriends sporting Zac Efron-worthy styled hair.

Reader, beware: choose your influences wisely.

On the flip side, such camp following eradicates any individual style whatsoever, in two ways: not only can a slavish copy of someone else's look (or, for that matter, a shop mannequin, or magazine layout) never be truly chic, because it won't have the intangible quality of individuality; but the generic style "icons" (quotation marks pointedly and emphatically used) most people are copying these days are themselves are largely products of stylists, and high-profile shills for designers hawking their wares to the engrossed readers of In Style and US Weekly.

When it comes to style, inspiration should never be confused with imitation.

Since we're not completely immune to the 21st century, and its insistence on sound byte-sized snippets of information, here is a list of what's been inspiring us lately. What has been, we emphasize, not who.

• Interiors. Thanks to our darling Toby Worthington, our interest in the elegance of hearth and home has quadrupled. A well-ordered, well-proportioned, elegantly-appointed room is probably the most difficult thing to achieve, so now, when we see one that we like, we get inspired by its colors and lines. A magnificent New York townhouse done in shades of pumpkin and aubergine made our mouth water; Mr. Worthington's flawless living room in greens and yellows had a similar effect. Both color combinations have made their way into our wardrobe.
  
  
  Helena Rubinstein also endorses pumpkin and aubergine.
  
  Texture. We've been playing with this element a lot more lately, especially as the weather turns cool, and layering is possible. Our white-and-black mini houndstooth check suit, in luxuriously comfortable worsted wool, has such a soft texture, that it reads grey more than stark black and white, opening it to a whole vista of possibilities. We paired it recently with a rough-hewn lambswool vest in hunter green, moss green, and gingerbread brown argyle; a textured silk bow tie in plum with wide-spaced flecks of bronze; a wet silk pocket square in dark green, with repeating patterns in pumpkin, navy and bronze; medium-grey merino wool socks; and handmade oxford lace-ups in antiqued oak. The colors combined seamlessly, the textures played off each other beautifully, and we admittedly purred and preened in multiple compliments during the course of a delicious evening.
  
  
  Check, please: call out the houndstooth.
  
  
• Music. Music has always been one of our ruling passions; but it's become even more of an inspiration lately. Our taste has always been quite catholic, and continues to be; but even though the Great American Songbook has long been a staple in our collection, it's taken on a greater resonance of late. More specifically, we've been paring things down to the simplest approach, and really listening to the lyrics. (The simple vocal stylings of Mary Cleere Haran, Carol Sloane, Fred Astaire and Bobby Short, for instance, in their straightforwardly soigne approach, as opposed to the brasher charms of, say, Mimi Hines. [Who still has a place in our hearts, and playlists, bless her socks.]) In these turbulent times, the eloquent, elegant, romantic lyricism of Lorenz Hart, Cole Porter, Johnny Mercer and their contemporaries is a much-needed antidote, and helps us to envision the ideal gentleman we place on a pedestal.
  
  
  Mr. Astaire: dancing in the dark, never dressing in it.
  
  
• Food. We've always been obsessed with food, too; but again, we've recently taken a less-is-more approach and have been luxuriating in the pleasures of unpretentious dishes, beautifully and simply prepared. It suits our state of mind right now, as well as, we think, the current state of affairs. Who wants to eat fussy foams, miniscule macrobiotics, or overpriced omasake these days? Our current favorites: braised tripe with chickpeas; lamb stew over polenta; thin-sliced pork belly steeped in olive oil and rosemary; boiled beef in its own broth; and any perfectly-executed pasta dish. Style, really, has so much to do with being comfortable in your own skin: it follows that we gravitate towards comfort food. It isn't all champagne and caviar, dears.
  
  
  A jug of wine, a plate of pasta, and Marcello Mastroianni: timeless style, effortless cool.

Of course, there are countless other influences and inspirations which present themselves everyday, usually having to do with color: the shade of a flower has sent us around town, determined to find it in a tie or pocket square or something, anything. Nature, artwork, a snippet of dialogue, poetry or prose - anything creative, which sparks the imagination, can be the catalyst for style. We hope that SSUWAT provides a little bit of inspiration, too. One thing we've resisted doing is posting photos of our own outfits; it seems dually self-serving (a commentary of which designers we're wearing seems so smug, not to mention indiscreet) and self-defeating: the very purpose of these posts is to encourage people to hone and develop and appreciate their own individuality, not to send them running to buy an exact copy of What We're Wearing, or even to ooh and aah over the labels. Have confidence in your own style - open your eyes, your ears, your minds - and, of course, continue to watch this space, darlings!