Neiman's Last Call

Shit! I didn't even realize people were reading this. I promise to post something relevant later today. Bear with me.

OK, as promised, my Neiman's finds for all of you freaky fashionistas like me:

The biggest score: These Lambertson Truex booties, 75% off. Also notice my favorite picture of my beloved Wally in the background.



The favorite find: This yummy, fabulous Marc Jacobs evening bag, 50% off. I'm obsessed with golds, browns, coppers, etc. right now.



The other big score: This cashmere La Rok (I just love their stuff) sweater, also about %75 off.



The cute blouse: Alice & Olivia, which goes swimmingly with the booties and the bag—I tend to think in entire outfits, which either makes me truly deranged or a true fashionista—also %75 off.



And just so you don't think me a selfish, superficial bitch, which this anonymous commenter has accused me of being over at Dish, I also picked up some great Hanukkah gifts for dad, mom, godson Kobi and best friend.

I also wanted to post some pics of my soon-to-be-evacuated apartment while it's looking all spiffy for my house guests arriving today.

The living room:





The bedroom:

Looking the Part

I have many philosophies, most of them silly. One of them relates to careers and success, and is quite simple: look the part.

Fashion editors should be fashion plates. Beauty editors should be pretty, well-groomed or at the very least have fabulous skin.

I once lost a job because of this philosophy. Often, job interviews are about concealing your true self and spouting the company line. Well, I interviewed for an editor position at this shopping magazine called Shop Etc. Naturally, I dressed to the nines to meet with the editor in chief. Me: Calvin Klein silk skirt and top, Wolford tights, Chanel pumps, fab jewelry. Mandi Norwood, editor-in-chief: Pleated gray trousers, beige turtleneck, no jewelry. Ugh. (OMG, even in the Hearst company bio she looks frumpy. Oy!) This is a fashion magazine? I wanted to scream. Look the part, Mandi. And then, when she asked me what my favorite store was, and I answered (you betcha) "Bergdorf's," she actually scoffed and said that the magazine would be a little more downmarket. Well, then, I guess she did look the part.

I think this is why Vogue is my book of choice among the glossies. All of its editors, each and every one (with the exception of Alexandra Kotur, whose mommy is someone famous), is chic, pretty and sophisticated. They practice what they preach. I worship at the altar of Vogue and always have.

The other rags? Eh, not so much. Nina Garcia at Elle



is a trainwreck. That hair? Ugh. Go see Fekkai or Blandi, honey, please. She looks like she belongs down here in Miami. And don't even get me started on Glenda Bailey at Bazaar.




Ewwwwwwwwww. A picture speaks volumes (she's on the right).

The Ghost of Grandmom's Past

Roxy, my deceased grandmother on mom's side, was gifted at one thing: shopping. She was an intriguing, striking woman in both wardrobe and wit, but she wasn't the nicest person in the world, so we remember her most fondly for the jewels and accessories she left behind. Sad, but true. I could analyze her to death, but the truth is that Roxy cared mostly about appearances, and, as a result, amassed a collection of clothing and jewelry that could rival any Park Avenue grande dame.

My mom and her sister inherited everything, and I've been the lucky recipient of many of mom's hand-me-downs. 75% of my jewelry is from Roxy's collection. And a few of my most prized accessories as well. Of the latter, I especially adore these snakeskin, vintage Judith Leiber belts, and I wear them frequently. I have never seen them either in stores or worn by anyone else.





Imagine my utter shock when I looked over at one of my parents' friends at the bat mitzvah party Saturday night and saw her sporting this Roxy belt.



Mom was unconvinced, so I had to confront the woman, introduce myself and tell her my Roxy anecdotes. I examined the belt with my eagle eyes and sure enough, it was the same. I was curious--where had she gotten the belt? How old was it? I needed to know, for Roxy was long gone, and these are grave issues people! She said she'd just pulled it out of her closet and that she'd bought it about 20 years ago. Mom and I have carbon dated it to more like 30 years, but whatever.

I also have a particular favorite item among my mother's Roxy haul. It's an exquisite, unique, Chopard cocktail watch that practically gives me orgasms every time I gaze upon it. It's on a black alligator strap, with yellow gold and white diamond pave hearts framing the diamond-shaped face, which is also yellow gold with rows of diamonds and the company's trademark floating diamonds inside. If I had to choose one item from Roxy's stash, this watch would be it.

So mom lets me wear it to black-tie events when we're together. I wore it to the party Saturday, and had my mom's friend photograph it to share with all three of you loyal fashionistas, but damnit if the stupid photos are nowhere to be found on the roll. (It most resembles this--click on the fourth from the right picture--beauty from Chopard's current Happy Diamonds collection.)

Sometimes I think Roxy haunts us. Perhaps it's because we scattered her ashes around the oak tree in our backyard next to those of her mother, whom she abhored, while hastily reciting the mourner's kadish. (And then later we scattered the ashes of our beloved lhaso apso, Betsy there too, but Roxy actually liked dogs....so that couldn't be it.) Perhaps she thinks I'm not divine enough to fill her diva shoes. I mean, we are talking about a woman who stipulated in her will that her jewelry could not be sold or traded in by her heirs; it could only be reset. The woman was beyond batty, so missing pictures of her beloved Chopard? Par for the Longboat Key Club Course.