Cheryl Shops

Short attention span post
I was planning to write a few posts tonight--including one on new sample-sale websites--but, alas, it's been a very long week, I am tired, and I really just want to have a cocktail and watch the season premiere of Project Runway. (It's back! I'm excited! Aren't you?) So, until next week when I have my wits about me, some random notes.

Gee, have you heard the First Lady had the nerve to wear a pair of shorts whilst hiking the Grand Canyon on a Sunday when the temperature was 106 degrees? It must've been a slow news day, because The Today Show had a serious, in-depth discussion about it. Gee, I don't recall anyone discussing whether it was appropriate for her husband, THE THEN-FUTURE LEADER OF THE FREE WORLD, to be photographed in nothing but swim trunks last summer. Seriously, people. They're legs. Everyone has them. Get over it.

On a happier note, I highly suggest reading Mike Albo's review of the new Hollister store in Soho from today's Times, a vast improvement over the debacle that was last week's Cintra Wilson goes to J.C. Penney (which I have refrained from commenting on, because, while I think Ms. Wilson could've handled it more delicately, she had a point that was greatly overlooked: Mass American fashion has devolved into total mediocrity). Albo's entire article is brilliant, but here's my favorite part:

On the way down I stopped in the fragrance room and sampled the Laguna Beach body mist. It smelled like Jolly Ranchers being breathed on my face by Hayden Panettiere. Here the store also sells its California fragrance, which is spritzed on the mannequins every hour; it’s a noxious concoction that, I assume, is distilled from mink sex glands and the tears of broken-hearted teenage girls.

Finally, I get a lot of irrelevant PR pitches sent to me on a daily basis, but here's one I couldn't resist: Miss Piggy and Marc Jacobs in his showroom, going over his looks for Fashion Week. Miss Piggy will be wearing a Marc Jacobs frock next week at Macy's Glamorama in Chicago.

I don't know about you, but this made me love Marc Jacobs even more than I already do. On that note, have a good weekend, everybody!

Guilty Pleasure: Hollister sweatpants
Whenever MW and I head out to the burbs, we like to go to the mall. Mundane, yes, but you never realize how much you miss malls until you move somewhere like New York where, this time of year especially, shopping involves schlepping around outside in inclement weather, then sweating once you get inside the stores because you're wearing 8,000 layers and a heavy coat. But I digress. I also love going to malls because I like to observe teenagers in their natural habitat--it keeps me young. And nowadays, the teens are flocking in huge numbers to Hollister, which is owned by Abercrombie & Fitch and virtually undistinguishable from its parent company, except that its clothes appear to fit tighter and cost about $10-$15 less. Also, Hollister stores are darker and the music is louder, if you can believe that. So I spent most of my time stumbling around and bumping into things, blindly grasping at random racks of clothing until I came across the sweatpants. If you've been to a college campus (or a suburban mall) recently, you'll know what I'm talking about--low rise, slightly cropped, but worn bunched up right below the knee. Often they say "Hollister" across the butt. Yes, they're kinda obnoxious. But oh my god are they soft. They're a regular ol' cotton/poly blend, but the way they're washed to achieve such divine softness must be an industry secret guarded with secret passwords, iron padlocks, and a pack of angry Rottweilers. Of course I bought a pair. So did MW. I am a little upset with myself for not having bought another. Then again, now I have something to look forward to next time I go to the mall.