10.23.2006
while i was out
So there were many things I wanted to blog about during my period of phlegm-itude, but my head was always too foggy to actually type out a post. Most of these gems will now be lost to history, but there's at least one thing I feel I must bring to the attention of RC readers. I'm sure by now you have read about Times writer Alex Kuczynski's addiction to plastic surgery, chronicled in her new book, Beauty Junkies. (You can follow Gawker's fervent obsession with her here.) And I'm sure you too have been wondering how she came to be this way. One possible answer was tucked into a "critical shopper" column in last week's Thursday Styles, Kuczynski's review of the Madison Avenue Oilily shop:
In the third grade, I had a teacher named Mrs. Francomono. She was always complaining of poor circulation and fussing that her legs were unbearably hot. While she read to us, sitting on a plastic inflatable doughnut, the girls were allowed to take clean paintbrushes and stroke Mrs. Francomono’s lower legs, encased in cruelly tight support hose, with cool water.
To this day, when I hear someone reading from a book, I remember the odd sensation of stroking cold water on nylon support stockings, as scratchy as sharkskin, with a soft paintbrush.
Okay, let's say it together: Ewwwwwww! No wonder poor Alex wants to stave off old age as long as possible. And perhaps we can, therefore, forgive her for not at all understanding the genius of Oilily, a Dutch women's and children's clothing company. (Weirdly, she complains about the prices--isn't that a no-no in the Styles section?) I suppose I'm a little sensitive because if I had the cash I'd be dressing baby primarily in their stuff, but I think this, too, may be Alex's cry for help. If the anhedonia is so acute that you can't even enjoy Oilily's Bjorkian technicolor sherpa stylings, well, let's face it: even the best eye-tuck isn't going to make you happy.
In the third grade, I had a teacher named Mrs. Francomono. She was always complaining of poor circulation and fussing that her legs were unbearably hot. While she read to us, sitting on a plastic inflatable doughnut, the girls were allowed to take clean paintbrushes and stroke Mrs. Francomono’s lower legs, encased in cruelly tight support hose, with cool water.
To this day, when I hear someone reading from a book, I remember the odd sensation of stroking cold water on nylon support stockings, as scratchy as sharkskin, with a soft paintbrush.
Okay, let's say it together: Ewwwwwww! No wonder poor Alex wants to stave off old age as long as possible. And perhaps we can, therefore, forgive her for not at all understanding the genius of Oilily, a Dutch women's and children's clothing company. (Weirdly, she complains about the prices--isn't that a no-no in the Styles section?) I suppose I'm a little sensitive because if I had the cash I'd be dressing baby primarily in their stuff, but I think this, too, may be Alex's cry for help. If the anhedonia is so acute that you can't even enjoy Oilily's Bjorkian technicolor sherpa stylings, well, let's face it: even the best eye-tuck isn't going to make you happy.
