Mirror Image

It's long seemed curious that so many people want strangers reading their chests. It's human nature to steal a peak, but reading seems a different matter entirely. We're inviting people to stare, while paying big companies for the pleasure of advertising their goods. I'm no fan of the writing on the backside of shorts, either, which began some summers ago and shows little sign of abating. Why is someone's rear a billboard?

In that vein, I'm utterly perplexed by the "Life is Good" clothing phenomenon, especially when adopted by adults. If life is so good, why is a t-shirt necessary to proclaim this? The graphics are minimal. They're cloyingly cute, invoking stick figures at a time where there are gifted creative people out there whose work deserves our attention. This extensive clothing line offers aesthetics as confounding as the message, and yet the stuff is everywhere. When something this dull becomes pervasive, it isn't good.

Besides, if life is so good, wouldn't a smile be a better, more personal expression than a commercialized product?

The August issue of Vogue arrived. It's the age or "ageless" issue and the mature -- that is, 35-year-old -- Winona Ryder is on the cover. That's the age at which most models are put out for pasture. Ryder's a curious choice, as her career is largely moribund. In the feature story, she's reduced to talking about her most celebrated work of the past five years: her 2002 conviction for shoplifting.

What does it take to land Vogue's cover? Ryder is a magazine favorite, though she's hardly in fashion in Hollywood. She remains achingly beautiful and highly photogenic though why stylists had to borrow Mrs. Lovett's hairstyle from Sweeney Todd remains a mystery. Ghastly.

It's alway interesting to perform Kremlinology on Vogue's choices, especially for the cover. Oprah appeared only once after, according to legend, editor Anna Wintour asked her to drop to 150 pounds. As first lady, Hillary Clinton appeared on cover. So far, there have been no Republicans. If this is truly the "ageless" issue, and older beauties (even in their 90s) are featured inside, wouldn't the beauteous Helen Mirren, who turns 62 this week, have been a more interesting and viable choice? The day Vogue puts someone of that age who is still beautiful and working will be stunning news, indeed.

Oh, this is unreal. In the olden days, fair maidens dressed for the royal court. Later, they might have done so to attend a sporting match court. Today, the endless question is what to don for criminal court for the ne plus ultra in contemporary acronyms, the DUI. Guess if you never bothered with college, or much of high school, it serves as a degree. A degree of bad judgment.

One of our favorite websites -- OK, our favorite -- gawker.com posted an item about Nicole Richie's court attire for her second DUI. Apparently, a Moschino publicist wished to notify all that the undernourished celebutante had chosen this smart black, back tied sheath."This dress is part of the Moschino Fall/Winter 2007/8 Pre-Collection."

That, Nicole, always thinking one season ahead.

Some trends won't go away. We hoped those oversized, bug-eyed sunglasses would bite the dust, the huge plastic frames favored by various Bimbos of the Apocalpyse, as the NY Post presciently dubbed Lindsay, Britney and Paris last year. "No clue, no care, no underwear."

Alas, no luck.

They're still prevalent on the street among otherwise fetching young women. The glasses make the wearer's head look very, very small, suggestive of a bug and other persistent, pesticide-resistant, small-brained creatures. They make the wearer look -- how to say this delicately? -- not smart, largely because they follow in the tiny, wobbly steps of so many bimbos. A pity when so many attractive, fresher and, dare we say it, smarter alternatives abound.

Bill Walsh, who coached the San Francisco 49ers to three Super Bowl championships in 10 years, died Monday. Even though we were diehard Skins fans before switching to having our hearts perennially ruptured by the Iggles, we always had a soft spot for Walsh, who may have been the most elegant, clasically good-looking coach in NFL history. No, not Dick Vermeil. (Good hair, though.) Not Tom Landry. (Dallas, yuck, though the man could wear a hat.) Not the Tuna or Ditka. (Not ever). Not even Big Red with his absurd stripes and toothbrush stache. (Uhmm, no, though there's a deep affection.)

With his perfectly coiffed silver hair and exquisite profile, Walsh looked like Central Casting's idea of a professional coach. He was always perfect, in manner, deed and style. Wish there were more like him.

That's the sound of this summer, isn't it? Flip flops are the accessories this season, suitable for almost everyone. They're affordable. They come in a wide array of styles. And they're comfortable, too. Well, as long as you're not doing too much walking in a rush. Flip flops are all about taking life slow.

As hot as it is, though, casual flip flops -- the rubber or surfer styles -- don't work in the office, unless your work is on the boardwalk or at camp. Even if you're a summer intern, flip flops convey a sort of informality, a lack of seriousness for a professional setting. The same holds true for shorts. Though here at the Inquirer, I assure you, many men are prone to shorts and flip flops. The women, as holds true in so many matters, are more sensible.

With work, especially if you're young, it's best to dress a bit older than you might in your personal life if you wish to move onward and upward.

Kids! Don't try this look at home! Makes you miss those loud, oversized sweaters worn by Dr. Huxtable.

However, this exquisite image by Inquirer photographer David Swanson works as an excellent appetite suppressant.

So we're in New York yesterday riding the D train and the world is turning blue. It's Thursday so there's a "Business Person's Special" up in the Bronx. Of course, there's the irony: No one on the train looks remotely like he or she has much business except the Yankees. I count t-shirts for 10 -- count 'em, 10 -- different players. (No Bobby Abreu, though.) All dark blue and on a day when it hit 91 above ground and felt like 109 below. That's deep love. Also popular, naturally, among the straphangers was the ever-popular "Red Sox S---."

It's been some time since you've seen that many names at the Cit. The way Pat Burrell's been playing of late, .466 in the last 25 games, it might be time for him to be in fashion again. This picture of Burrell is a shameless ploy to get your attention. Did it work?

It's amazing how deep the affection for the Yanks' bench and T-shirts can be. There's gold to be mined at the sport's stores and ballpark if only the Phils could win our big love as they did in '93.

By the way, the Yankees went on to host a historic second inning -- 60 minutes, 18 hits, .720 combined batting average -- and still lost, 13 to 9, to the White "At Least They're Not Red" Sox.

We've had it up to our ears with the Bluetooth and any other ear attachments. They're hideous. The thing makes the user look like he has some ear infection, a modern-day Vincent Van Gogh, and not in a good, painterly way. People walk around seemingly talking to themselves, shutting out the world at large, talking way too loudly and thinking they are really, really important.

They're not. Truly important people don't have stuff in their ears. They have assistants to take their calls. They don't have junk in their ears. They don't look like they're talking to themselves and one step away from the bin. It's just wrong. Make them go away. Now.

So our first reaction to those retro 1933 uniforms was "Really? They wore colors that Miami-bright back during the Depression?"
Our second: "Did Donovan, Brian and Co. get a job at Ikea after Monday's debacle?"
They're seriously silly in Sweden's national colors. What does Sweden have to do with American football? The ensembles look like the latest offering from Lilly Pulitzer.
Oh, and then we thought, right, Lurie and Banner will do anything to make money with a losing team, even marketing surreal new "vintage" jerseys in jockey colors more suitable for the Preakness.
And, yes, we do know these are the city's colors but that doesn't make them right for football. Also, if we're talking history, why not do something Quakerly and make the players wear somber, plain wool jerseys, but we digress.
Then the guys start to play.
It was the most glorious Sunday in weeks, in every way possible.
So it's not the most butch combination possible, but the jerseys are working.
The truth is we were never fond of that Eagles more-teal-than-hunter green.

You said it, J Roll, the Phils were the team to beat and the Mets didn't. Jimmy's red sunglasses are superb. He opts for equally awesome white-frame wraparounds when he assumes the infield. Jimmy Rollins is definitely our MVP for ballpark style.

From a purely objective and disinterested view, this team is the best-looking roster in memory.

Was in New York Friday to see the Grace Kelly exhibit of more than 500 of her objects which opens today and runs through Oct. 26 at Sotheby's. Normally, it's required to wear gloves while handling such objects but I was allowed to pick up her wonderful eyeglasses -- she suffered from an astigmatism -- that she wore so much better than some of us will ever do. Then again, she looked better in everything.
And then one of her Kelly bags appeared, brown and a tad nicked, which made it all the more wonderful. She had used the bag, most likely loved it, unlike today's stylish women who seem to sport this season's model for a few weeks then move on. This never happens, of course, with an Hermes Kelly or Birkin, perhaps because they're timeless and the women they're named for were authentic in their style.

What is it about weddings that makes otherwise sane women go -- how to put this delicately? -- absolutely insane? Americans are not alone in the absurdity. Take a look at this lovely bride from Guangzhou, China, courtesy of jezebel.com (a terrific site) which found this in the UK Metro. The bride is trying to set the world's record for longest train at 219 yards and who knows how many friends in waiting to hold the business. That's almost two football fields. Will she hand it down to her daughter who, someday, might try doubling the thing? How did she get into the limo after the festivities? Very, very carefully.

Fashion is nothing if about inverting logic. For instance, it's quite easy to buy a nylon puffer coat that costs more than a fur. The one above is from Moncler, which makes fetching winter outwear. This champagne number is a mere $2,396 at bluefly.com, marked down from $2,995. On the same site, there's a black organza Moncler for $4,795 (a steal from the original $5,995). It's a jacket, which translates into half the material for almost twice the price. The rise in stylish puffer jackets was a welcome antidote to women who wanted warmth but didn't want to wear fur. Now, Michael Kors has gone one weirder: He's designed a puffer coat in sheared mink. It's orange, at Saks in Bala Cynwyd, and kind of wonderful in its own bizarre way. For you, $14,000.

Sometimes a trend comes along and you have to wonder "what gives?" Sweater and baby doll dresses are all over the place. There's something comforting about the simplicity of the dress, long a summer stalwart, that makes winter easier, too. A dress, a nice pair of opaque hose and boots and you're dressed. But the short, swingy baby doll dresses are a bit -- how to put this gently? -- puerile. I've seen 55-year-old women in swingy jumpers and question whether this is really dressing one's age. The baby doll dress is ubquitous. Many re fetching, but is it really right to be wearing these long past school years? I credit Marc Jacobs with this, though his eponymous fall collection was mature by anyone's standards. Jacobs, as influential as any American designer, has long had a thing for the school girl look. Critics are utterly divided on his work. I tried on this Marc by Marc Jacobs dress pictured here which was lovely but made me feel like Bette Davis in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane. Why are Jacobs and others designers creating little-girl outfits with Mommy Dearest prices? Jacobs has launched a Little Marc collection, for children, which seems redundant. He's already doing it. Meanwhile Miuccia Prada, one of the few designers creating clothes for real women, showed almost nothing but shorts(!) and barely-there skirts for her spring Miu Miu line.

Our new guilty pleasure is ABC's Wednesday campfest Dirty Sexy Money about the Darlings, the richest, most messed-up family in all Manhattan. This is one of the rare shows to get the clothes right. Jill Clayburgh, who made sartorial history in An Unmarried Woman by never sullying her white winter coat, is perfection as socialite matriarch Letitia, dressing in true Upper East Side understatement. (Tish Darling, could there be a better name?) The rest of the family is equally stunning, and the clothes are great sport. Plus the show features Peter Krause (whom we've loved since Sports Night) and William Baldwin, finally exhibiting that he has some of the same comic chops as his brilliant brother, Alec. Dirty Sexy Money -- what a title -- is stunning fun, that keeps getting better.

We have sailed past the Gap Kids era, breezed through Old Navy, and have now arrived at the land of Abercrombie Kids. The come-hither ad campaign has been ditched and the clothes are current and well-made, sensible and, yes, expensive. The worst is that Abercrombie is affixed to almost all the girls' clothing, while the moose logo lopes across every boys' item. I love a moose but not everywhere.

The boy knew better even though he liked many of the button-down shirts and fleece sweats. The girl, more influenced by marketing, didn't care.

We will not pay to have someone else's name on our children's rear, our rear, want the phenomenon to disappear from everyone else's rear, and wish Congress would pass suitable legislation. We don't believe rears should be used as billboards.

The girl fell for a very soft, and sweet, blue-and-white striped sweatshirt with fleece lining with "Abercr" on the front left half and "ombie" on the right. She is still young, so the writing is hardly provocative, but why isn't Abercrombie paying us to promote their goods? Finally, it occurred to me why monogram stores have popped up all over the place. People are craving their own names and initials.

Abercrombie, alas, is at the mall, the big mall, K of P. The place we avoid because it induces migraines and makes for depression and so much stuff. And the place blasts music, as does its younger, less expensive (though not by much) sister, Hollister. For the better part of a year, I thought Hollister was simply a popular high school on some MTV program. I finally figured out why the music is so loud and annoying (just as the sales staff, I did) and fierce. It's to make parents go All Clockwork Orange in the place and finally surrender, yelling "OK, I'll buy you the fleece sweatshirt. Just get me out of here!"

Which certainly worked in my case.

Life surely is unfair. Some people age far better than others. Let us be sexist for a moment and say there is something unsettling and unbecoming about a man dying his hair. Most people err on the side of dying their hair too dark as they age -- Al Pacino comes to mind, as does Wayne Newton -- which is the opposite of what one should do. As you age, you lose color in your skin so the hair should actually go lighter, which is what happens naturally. Of course, this is precisely what the divine Robert Redford has been doing, at least for his movies. At age 71, he is still intensely blond, with a requisite harvest of highlights. Sundance isn't simply the name of his movie festival and company. It could also be the name of his hair color. The result, as seen here in his latest, Lions for Lambs -- bad title in a season with a spate of them -- and the end result is strange especially since he's eschewed plastic surgery (or so he says in interviews). His skin, never great, appears mottled to the point of ressembling a topographical map. Is this what Brad Pitt will look like in 30 years? Anyway, it would be nice to see Redford without so much blondage. He's still beautiful, but the highlights are distracting.

'Tis the season, not merely for turkey, but also for -- drumroll, please -- the Sexiest Man Alive. People magazing declares it's Matt Damon. We've met him. He's sweet and polite, not common in your average movie star, and certainly pleasant on the eyes. Sexy? We're not so sure, but People mag can't pick George Clooney every year.

Not to be outdone, the online mag Salon put together its list which includes Mad Men's Jon Hamm (yes!), Kayne West (sure!), chef Jacques Pepin (mais oui!) and Cate Blanchett as Bob Dylan as well as public radio's talker of infinite pauses, Ira Glass (huh?).

Our list would be topped by Brian Westbrook, who brought sexy and winning back to the Eagles.

And Jon Stewart, who is perfect in all ways. We miss more than anything during the writers' strike, so much so that we're enduring reruns.

And, as always, George. But that's just our opinion.

So perhaps we're bitter. Perhaps we've extremely bitter. For most of last night, we sang "Feeley" to the tune of "Feelings" until, sadly, the bitter (four-minute) end. Bill Belichick must have rolled out of bed seconds before kickoff to look this bad for Sunday's game. He's the only coach who can make Andy Reid look put together. The headband channels early Olivia Newton John while the sweatshirt may date from college. We never did think people in Boston could dress. Most of them ressemble mattresses. Then again, if you're doing your job this well, perhaps you can get away with anything. And this would be anything.

Here's exquisite J-Roll modeling the new retro cream-colored Phils uniforms unveiled today for next season. Modeled on the team's 1940s uniforms, they'll be worn at 2008 home day games. It's worth remembering that the team was a disaster for most of that decade. According to the Phillies website, "by 1942, the club had lost more than 100 games for the fifth straight season, including a club-record 111 in 1941." In 1948, the club signed Richie Ashburn and Robin Roberts, the latter was back to model the uniforms with Rollins and Cole Hamels.
Despite the bad history, we like the uniforms and think it was time the pinstripes were banished. What do you think?
It will come as no surprise that, with less than a month to go before Christmas, the jerseys went on sale immediately for a mere $189.99 at the Phils website, almost Prada prices. Smart thinking now that Eagles attire sales have slowed. What we really want, though, is the "Dreamseats Philadelphia Phillies Recliner," yours for only $999.99.

Here is glorious Diana, Miss Ross to all of us, the diva of all divas, as she recieved her Kennedy Center Honor Sunday. The dress is an endless cloud of white, too much for almost anyone but certainly not the ever-stylin' Miss R. Jezebel.com, showing Miss Ross and La Belle Aretha in an egg-yolk yellow gown, poses the great Socratic question of the ages: "True or False: A Legend Can Wear Whatever She Damn Wants."

Frankly, we think a woman can wear whatever she darn well wants provided she does it with style and wit and commits to the grand statement. (The rainbow ribbon is another matter. Couldn't the KenCen affix the award it to a more stately black or red?) Sometimes, too much is just right. What say you of Dear Diana's swarm of satin?

Time to ask the most perplexing issue of our time: Jocelyn Kirsch, the Center City grifter, paid $2,200 for hair extensions? That's without the tip. Had Kirsch who, afterall was using OPM (Other People's Money), left a decent tip for the stylist, we would be talking about $2,500.

Does this strike anyone as patently absurd? A bit of wind, some light snow, and the do will fall like a souffle. Plus Kirsch was known to change her look, hair color and contacts as frequently as the weather. Couldn't she just buy an Eva Gabor wig? Wags are dubbing Kirsch and beau Edward Anderton the "Bonnie and Clyde" of scam artists but Faye Dunaway never need the extensions (her subsequent cosmetic surgery is another matter) and the real Bonnie was no looker.

Is it just us or is there something completely INSANE about a father sending his daughter silicone breast implants as a gift? Apparently, Jocelyn Kirsch -- the buxom Bonnie of the alleged Center City scam artists "Bonnie and Clyde" -- told Drexel classmates that her father, North Carolina plastic surgeon Dr. Lee Kirsch, sent her silicone implates for a Christmas present in 2003? Is this because nothing quite says Christmas like a D cup? How many Freudian analysts does it take to unravel this message? This certainly puts the Jingle -- or is Jiggle? -- in Jingle Bells.

Keira Knightley is beyond beautiful. She's the new Julie Christie. And the dress she wears in Atonement, designed by Jacqueline Durran, is the truest bottle green, used perfectly to illustrate the heat of the day and the moment as experienced by her character Cecilia and her lover, played by the equally beguiling James McAvoy. (The color of his eyes is unearthly.) The dress has become a star in its own right, appearing on the Today show and subject of much discussion. Not everyone loves Joe Wright's movie, possibly because there are so many of us in love with Ian McEwan's novel, but the clothes are pitch-perfect. Let's see whether the slip-like appeal and dangerous color influence other designers.

Nothing says politics like dressing for a caucus. In Iowa, they're wearing winter white-red-and-blue, like an Old Navy July 4th t-shirt except in frigid January. The Inquirer's Tom Gralish took this pic of Des Moines enterprising resident John Olsen all patriotic to dish politics. What will Pennsylvanians wear come April 22nd? Won't matter. Most likely, it will be all over but the shouting on super-de-duper Tuesday, Feb. 5, when 23 states cast ballots. No wonder Iowans are chest-thumping the flag. They rule.

Growing up in a political household, I was a baby model for a Hubert Humphrey campaign and appeared in a Bobby Kennedy commercial -- the pay was lousy (nothing), but the perks not bad (kisses, an autograph) -- I'm a sucker for any image of a politican with a child. Slate.com's Darren Garnick has done far better. As a New Hampshire resident, he managed to get his supremely photogenic five-month-old daughter Dahlia photographed with every single candidate (twice with Barack Obama), except former Alaska Sen. Mike Gravel whom he deems "way too creepy." Take a look at the best ahhh moments of the primary: http://slate.com/id/2181495/

Did you suffer from massive sartorial Golden Globe withdrawal Sunday? Me, neither. Just in case, here's a picture from last year with the glorious Helen Mirren and her two awards. Sure, watching infotainment fembots read cue cards -- and, who precisely, was doing that writing? -- isn't the same as seeing Johnny Depp, Cate Blanchett, Keira Knightly or our love object Daniel Day Lewis stride across the stage in some fetching ensemble but, still, it was welcome to see a streamlined award show that cut to the chase in 35 minutes. According to National Public Radio, the lack of fluffery cost the Los Angeles economy an estimated $80 million loss suffered by limo drivers, hair stylists, clothes stylists, makeup stylists and myriad Botox-injectors. Which means that, at least on one Sunday in January, all the glitterati looked exactly like the rest of us. OK, so maybe not Keira.

Is there any waste of time larger than the menswear collections? Seriously. This is the latest from Miuccia Prada's winter 2008 collection shown this week in Milan, and we love Prada. But enough. Feel sorry for the models. Feel sorry for the concept. Why do people continue to cover such piffle?

Been keeping track of the Paris couture shows? OK, probably not the best week to be eyeing $75,000 ensembles. But, should you be curious, Christian Lacroix -- the designer who made all the social X-rays so poufy in the Eighties -- delivered a spectacular, gorgeous couture collection this week. It can be glimpsed, as can all the less successful designs, at style.com For once, a designer shows a remarkable, inspiring, beautiful collection free from bells and absurd whistles. We're quite mad for the colorful hose that becomes darker at the foot. This divine dress would look smashing on Cate Blanchett at the Oscars. Then again, anything would. Then again, there may not be an Oscars.

Is this fair? No, it is not. Is life fair? No, it most certainly isn't. So, for the first time in forever, we will be rooting for the Giants come Super Bowl Sunday, and the more geeky Eli Manning, engaged to his longtime girlfriend who is not the supermodel of the world. Due to the similarity in color stylings, the Giants fans -- famous for painting their sizable bellies blue -- will be hard-pressed to distinguish themselves from Pats fans at the University of Phoenix Stadium.

Okay, that just happened to be the best Super Bowl game ever, unless you are a Pats fan, and even though our team wasn't in it. Alicia Keyes is gorgeous. In the pregame show, her hair and makeup were perfect. But the pants? Instant thunder thighs, and the songthrush is slim.
Big mistake, with an emphasis on the big.

See this stuff? This is purportedly "white chocolate," the worst development in culinary history. It is also aesthetically foul. Chocolate, already perfect, should not be white. Do not give it. Do not eat it. You will be rewarded for such wisdom.

Perhaps you saw my colleague Tirdad Derakhshani's SideShow this morning, where he reported on which celebrities should play the three presidential frontrunners, according to a ZogbySvedka poll.

For Barack Obama, voters chose Denzel Washington over Will Smith, two popular movie stars.

For John McCain, the choice was Tommy Lee Jones over Clint Eastwood, two popular movie stars.

For Hillary Clinton? Martha Stewart, a convicted perjurer and noted control freak, was chosen over Ellen DeGeneres, celebrity lesbian.

Neither one is a successful actress, on the screen or, in Stewart's case,the courtroom.

This plays precisely into the ongoing misanthropic view of female politicians, as brilliantly articularly by Tina Fey in her Saturday Night Live Weekened Update with Amy Poehler. Which you can view here: http://www.nbc.com/Saturday_Night_Live/video/#mea=221773

The irony? Hillary has been portrayed on the screen already, fictionally and rather effectively, by the wonderful Emma Thompson in Primary Colors.

Gives pause as to whether voters are really as tolerant of a female candidate as they say they are.