Oh, I remember that snotty precocious kid in the movie. I was hoping he'd blow out of the hole in the fuselage but nooooooo......

I just... really liked the way you phrased that.

Vortex points. Polar vortex. Vortex clothing at SXSW. Dare I say... we should be seeing a NYT trend piece soon? (The plane's probably in Brooklyn.)

Instagram, more than any other social platform, does tend to glorify asses.

Skeevy. Considering that he is responsible for high-fashion photography, it's odd that he is the visual equivalent of a frat-house laundry basket. If the fashion industry is going to insist on looking the other way, why aren't the modeling agencies stepping in and sending reps with the models?

And I like yours!

No. No?

News flash: with a minor 21st-century twist or two, not much has changed in Two-Story-Foyer-with-Granite-Countertopville.

Great piece. I'm opposed to reductive categories on principle... culturally, though, the chattering class tends to define things in narrow channels, as if we were all still watching Sesame Street and singing "one of these things is not like the other."

Nope.

This was considered a toney store in a fairly wealthy neighborhood and the WORST offenders were the Old Money types.

There were "return" boxes that were collected regularly. I imagine some poor sod had to go through the horrors within.

Ugh, YES. I just could never be that brazen.

Like sand through an hourglass, blood through a bikini bottom...

I just remember working in retail during college and all the "returns" with blood on them: sheets, towels, pants, blouses, handbags, to say nothing of underfugs. Returns accepted, no questions asked. Barf.

With a puzzlingly visually-disconnected stock photo, too.

That all sounds lovely. Everyone's still alive....right?

Oh, it's the takeyourshirtoffus spell, I use it myself. Wand in right hand, please.

Well said.

//snort