In my high cache & exciting life
of blogging for the stars,
I find myself in a daily head to head
with narcissistic Prima Dona fashion models.
You know the type.
All "me, me, me".
"Does this hat make me look fat?!?"
"Is my fur shining in this light?"
Where is my Cab-Sav and my Dexatrim?
I stick with it, because a real model
is more of a muse than a hat rack.
The way they can capture nuance in a simple gaze.
The way Fran here goes dead inside
and lets the fashion ask the tough questions:
Why IS the wrist cuff on a rock?
Profound stuff here people.
That thousand yard stare...
And now there are BEADS!
What does it mean man?
Here it's all coy coquette.
And here the subject provokes...
"am I in the bowl or out"
Very Keseyian: Are you on or off the bus?
These are the big questions.
(And these are the small, mostly crooked, stitches for Futchie
who was having a Coco Chanel lust fest.)