This Week's Look Book: Kaavya Viswanathan
The Look Book- Kaavya Viswanathan, Overachiever/Overplagiarist
What do you do?Well, until recently, I was just your average Indian-American Harvard student/author of a book on several bestseller lists. But one day last week, things started to go awry. There were these plagiarism accusations...and I'll tell you, I don't ever want to feel like I did that day. I said to myself, "I am beautiful no matter what they say. Words can't bring me down," but my mind starting playing these foolish games, and they're tearing me apart. All this negativity in my head, in my head, zombie! Zombie! Zombie! It's like, flies in the vaseline we are. Sometimes it blows my mind, and it's totally insane in the brain. I mean, it's not confidential- I've got potential rushing around! I guess I had a bad day, and I'm taking one down, but I'll sing a sad song and I'll turn it around. Still, I wish the real world would just stop hassling me.
What are you doing today?Today? Today is totally awesome, it's like the greatest day I've ever known! Can't live for tomorrow, tomorrow's much too long. Besides, tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day to the last syllable of recorded time; and all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. So I might go bowling or something.
Where do you live?On the dark side of the moon, usually. Sometimes with my parents. Hopefully, if i can get over this hump, this hump this hump this hump this hump, I'll get my own place.
What are you wearing today?I am wearing an Indian top with jeans so that there will be no mistake among New York Times readers as to my cultural background. I don't want them to see me and think I'm like, Puerto Rican or something. There's all kinds of weird confusion these days. I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix, angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night. So it's like, I'm trying to simplify and stuff.
Do you have hobbies apart from writing?I enjoy mime, lithography, Xerox-ing, vocal impersonation, shopping on Canal Street, designing clothes for H&M and ABS, transcription, and watching DNA replicate
A Jane-of-all-trades, in other words?That is well said, replied Candide...um, I mean, replied ME, but we must cultivate our garden.
Vindication Station
I've gotten word of a certain
website that ranks New York's socialites based on evaluation by a "Board of Directors which consists of three designers, four editors, two dames and one gentleman of the social scene, one gossip columnist and one party photographer who came up with the final rankings for the first and historic ranking." This is, indeed, a momentous occasion, and not just because a) this consolidation of New York's Finest means that I can meet the wise, all-knowing photographic gaze of Lauren DuPont or Plum Sykes at any time of day or night with one simple click of the mouse b) I can now bask in the knowledge that at least 12 people have even less to do with their time than I do- and also choose to abuse this boredom by showing a flagrant lack of concern for anything less superficial than a scratch c) the point discrepancy between Lauren Bush and Helen Lee Schifter has been plaguing me for many moons now. And while I kind of sensed all along that they were about .3 points apart, I couldn't quite nail the specifics of where they stood vis-a-vis Lisa Airan. Now I know!
All of those things contribute to the gravity of this groundbreaking, history-altering moment, don't get me wrong. However, the true significance lies in one major fact: these Mystery Judges have independently and scientifically come to the same conclusion that I came to long ago (well, three months ago). They, too, know that Tinsley Mortimer is #1!! All those times that I doubted myself, considered doing a Lauren Davis Report or an analysis of Amanda Hearst's dancing maneuvers instead of sticking with the Tins, I was simply trying to ignore the inner voice that kept shouting "Mortimer! Mortimer!" But I was right, and now I have evidence. This is truly a thrilling day for all involved (me). I will sleep well tonight, that's for sure...
Vegas Social Diary- Party Pictures
It was a splendid Easter Weekend in Vegas! High Society was out and about in all of its colorful, classy permutations in honor of spring, the resurrection of Jesus Christ, and legal prostitution. Notable socialites included
Candi Johnson from the Central Valley Trailer Park,
Butch the Skinhead,
Martin and Sally Weinberger of northern Peoria, all members of
Tonya Perkowski's bachelorette party, and a chronic gambler and drifter named
Bo Blackjack from Ocala, FL. With such a roster of distinguished guests, the weekend was a guaranteed success! Let's take a look at some of the fashionable men/women- about- town:
Here is
Big Stu, back in Vegas after completing a successful hit for one of his KKK clients. In this picture, he is unarmed, but he generally looks all the more dapper with a lead pipe or a tire iron in hand. You can't see it here, but rest assured that those jeans end at the knee. Stu wouldn't be caught dead in denim unless it's in shorts form; with a K-Mart model girlfriend to let him know what's "hot" and what's "not," he's always on the cutting edge when it comes to fashion!
Nothing says "I love you, so let's indulge in one too many bags of pork rinds together" like matching color schemes! Especially when they involve overalls and sneaker-clogs. Here, this chic duo struts the catwalk of Las Vegas Blvd and shows the world how to do oversized, red t-shirts the RIGHT way.
Warning! Style mavens ahead! That's what this second example of Couples Coordination screams to us with these bold orange accents. Socialites Krystal and Buck O'Reilly mean business; a man in cropped knickers doesn't mess around. Krystal's clogs serve as an ingenious geometric counterpoint to the angles created by her shoulder blades, the shirt that somehow falls far short of them, and the Sunglass Centerpiece on this metaphoric table of wonders.
In yet another example of this noteworthy fad, society trendsetters Phyllis and Bob Smith opted for a very Spring-ish floral motif. Phyllis' magenta capris were cropped just enough to allow the white on her shirt to match the white of her sun-starved calves. Bob's shirt beautifully complements the tint of his Blueblockers- and don't think for a moment that he didn't know it when he chose this finely nuanced ensemble!
Here is Ryan Abutino, ever-dandy member of Vegas' most established social circles. His high status is evidenced by his fluency in the universal language of Medallion. Even though you can't see it well in this picture (despite my fervent attempts to make it visible for the camera), suffice it to say that he's got one mean hunk of gold-plated copper on that white collar!
Buddy and Lynette Bibbers enjoy a quiet moment on the regal pillars of Caesar's Palace. Buddy, ever mindful of his physique and the importance of adequately "filling out" one's wifebeater, enjoys a bag of Lays while Lynette adjusts her Eagle Eyes to better view his mandals.
Uh-oh! Looks like David Patrick Columbia and I have competition when it comes to Society photography! I'm not sure which website or publication this shoot was for, but if I had to guess, I'd say Quest or Avenue magazines, or perhaps the New Yorker. Or the New Republic.
Ever the "businessman," Dirk Dragon checks his Blackberry to see if any "clients" have e-mailed. His lineage is impeccable, and Dirk prides himself on being a 14th-generation chest waxer. His tailor removes the top 5 buttons of every shirt he purchases, including this tasteful, elegant number lifted from the set of a 1987 film called "Boobs in Toyland."
And of course, last but not least, it's respected artist and toast of the town Val The Stripper. Typically camera shy, Val agreed to be photographed here, so long as it was done with levels of sophistication and class to which he is accustomed. Val's line of designer thongs has been featured in such magazines as Playgirl and Bulk Male. Additionally, he has hosted a number of notable, exclusive parties in Las Vegas, including the Young Republicans Banquet and Muffie Potter Aston's anniversary party.
A Birthing Poem For Little Suri Cruise
Little Suri Cruise:
Welcome to planet Earth!
I'm sure you miss your Home Planet
But you bring boundless mirth
To lovely Mama Kate
And Papa Tommy Cruise
Your name might come from Persians
Or maybe from Hebrews
No one seems to know, in fact
Where "Suri" had it's start
But it ends with you, and thanks to you
Your folks can play their part
See, Mommy signed a contract
And Daddy signed it too
And then he brainwashed Mommy
And then they ordered you!
They used a pretty test tube
With a dose of media spin
And a drop of L. Ron's dogma
(But not one bit of carnal sin)
So Daddy jumped on couches
And Ma became a drone
And Daddy promoted movies
While Mommy grew his clone
And then the Day arrived at last
The paparazzi began to riot!
And Mommy had a pacifier
To ensure that her birthing was quiet
And out you came, O little one
And the world owes you an apology
It's not your fault that your wacky Dad
Combined a good word like "science" with "tology."
I hope for your sake that post-partum depression
Is never in Mommy's presence
Daddy would rather have her eat you
Than put her on anti-depressants
But welcome, Suri, and congratulations!
The CruiseBaby Club is selective
So may all your days be merry and bright
And all your Dianetics effective
The Suspense Is Killing Me!
My dear friend M, whose camera I hijacked for my own nefarious purposes in Vegas, has not yet bothered to download my glorious photos onto her computer. So, sadly, I am still without the promised imagery. If she does not comply by tomorrow, I will send Val the Male Stripper to have a little chat with her. And by "chat," I mean "chlamydia transmission session." I am secure, almost as secure as Brangelina's Namibian birthing compound, in the knowledge that this tactic will be effective. Until then...
Vegas Social Diary
Coming tomorrow, so stay tuned...
But in the meantime, let me just say that Vegas might as well be Mars, only Martians probably speak better English and own fewer fanny packs. I have seen men wearing more jewelry than Queen Elizabeth, and I have seen a male stripper named Val, who has no body hair and a pronounced affinity for both coconut oil and herpes, give an xxx-rated lap dance to an overweight bachelorette from Indiana. I have had my dinner at an expensive steakhouse interrupted by an impromptu parade consisting of two drag queens, a pimp, and several midgets in matching dresses. I have learned the life story of a blackjack dealer named Tom because I spent three hours straight at his table. On a Sunday afternoon. Easter Sunday afternoon. I have seen call-girls in stiletto boots meeting their unattractive, short, balding "customers" in public as husbands and wives in matching denim overalls dragged their screaming, mulleted children away from the man handing out strip-club flyers. I have seen an enormous woman in leggings and Skechers clogs and her equally enormous, wife-beatered husband walking down the street at 1pm, sipping from 2-foot-long, plastic cocktail glasses full of rum punch. I have watched a Mexican man drop $400 for one bottle of not-so-great vodka at a club, while two greasy hombres with diamond studs in their ears and half unbuttoned shirts performed the dance equivalent of a gang-bang on a girl wearing a halter top and a chain belt with the approximate width of the Hudson River. I have been nearly deafened by the surround-sound trance music blaring from speakers at the hotel pool area. In the morning. I have washed down a $20 sandwich with a $6 bottle of water. Which I paid for with an $100 bill, because that is the only type of bill the ATM machine contained. I have avoided the cover charge at a lounge by blending in with a group of Midwestern spring breakers wearing capri pants with 6-inch platforms, and I have participated in their converation, despite the blank stares resulting from the fact that they have never laid eyes on me before, in order to keep the bouncer's suspicions at bay. Yes, I have done, seen and heard many, many things in the great City of Sin. And tomorrow brings visual evidence...
What Happens This Weekend Stays In This Weekend
Off to Vegas to properly commemorate the Resurrection of the Son of God and Savior of All Mankind, and to continue Passover observances with the proper degree of piety. Back Monday, minus a few thousand brain cells...
Watch That Girl Go!!
David Patrick Columbia provides us with an extra-special treat today. At the New Yorkers for Children benefit on Friday night, Tinsley Mortimer expressed her feelings about Underprivileged Youths by dancing up a storm...and fortunately for us, New York Social Diary was there to capture it in all of its glory! Here are some of the highlights of this most fabulous montage:
This move may look simple enough, but what you may NOT know is that Tinsley's dance partner has no right arm, thanks to a freak accident involving the zipper on a Loro Piana sweater. Thus, Tinsley is actually defying gravity by standing, unsupported, at a 45 degree angle. She has worked for many years to hone this particular party trick, and it looks like she's just about nailed it here. Notice how she keeps her mouth open in order to maintain proper balance.
This is an updated version of the traditional "Hokey Pokey"dance. Body parts are disqualified from entry into the "shake it all about zone" if they are not appropriately accessorized. Preferably in Stephen Dweck or David Yurman baubles and platform heels higher than 3.5 inches. Tinsley passed with flying colors! Green, white, and a
warm, off-platinum honey blond, to be exact.
In this shot, Tinsley is practicing a particularly lethal Jujitsu move. A waxed, yoga-toned leg is bent suggestively in the direction of the perpetrator, who, distracted by the enticing imagery, is completely oblivious to the neck-snapping headlock to which he is about to fall victim. Unbeknownst to her male companion, he will not be supporting another batch of Underprivileged Youths any time soon...
Here we see Tinsley and "friend" involved in an intricate dance step (evasive measure?) in which a metallic clutch is passed back and forth between blond socialites attempting to avoid physical contact with a sweaty, mildly effeminate, social-climbing Princeton graduate in the magazine industry. On every fourth downbeat, the clutch is opened, a small mirror is removed, and a Chanel lip gloss is liberally applied with a sweeping, syncopated motion.
I Am A Buzzkill
I am getting killed at work this week, so I apologize for the dearth of posts. But it's nice out! And it's almost the weekend! And it's spring! So go out, get drunk, loiter at Pastis, meet a cute Goldman Sachs VP, end up at Bungalow 8, wake up in a Tribeca loft, go to work in the same clothes you left in, and the world will be right again. I promise. And I'll be back before you can say "Tinsley"...
Gone Today, Here Tomorrow...
F'ing job.
Breaking News: Tinsley Mortimer Not As Blond As Before, World Reacts
According to an
article about about New York Blondes in yesterday's Times, Tinsley Mortimer is no longer as blond as she used to be. Says Mortimer, "I loved being really light blond, but it was just super-high-maintenance. Now I have a little darker blond color that is easier to take care of." This is a very interesting development in the long and complex history of Tinsley's grooming habits. Analysts who track the subtle variations in her highlighter/toner ratios all agree that the repercussions of this particular departure from past coloring trends will be severe and far-reaching. In fact, UN Secretary General Kofi Annan has called an emergency meeting to discuss how this shift to a more honey-based color scale may affect global peacekeeping efforts and the overall political climate in the Middle East. Not since Nicky Hilton went brunette in 2004 has a modified hair care routine so profoundly impacted the course of current events. We can only hope that she does not also decide to switch pedicurists or start wearing a different mascara. Humanity may never recover from a blow (or a brush) of that magnitude.
