Photos courtesy of Fashion 156.
Whether you're hiding your tired eyes through a pair of black, thick framed Dior shades or adding another layer of collagen infused lip plumper to mask your frown, do whatever makes you happy. Don't rely on anyone's opinion or judgements—it's you that has control of what you want to make of it.
I am not ashamed to say that I hide behind a visage of fancy clothes—It's my protection, my shield—It's what makes me comfortable with who I am and I'm not about to change any of that anytime soon.
We're all human, some bitchier like myself more so than others, but we're all just as vulnerable when you're left stripped to the core. So please think twice before you pass any sort of negative judgement on anyone you don't even know.
Just sayin'.
Px.
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A thousand questions and responses later, I want to say a much thanks to all of those who have patiently waited for their question to be answered by me on Formspring.
From intimate questions to fashion advice to even help on relationships, there was never a shy question asked. Below are just a few of my favourite that I have selected of over a thousand questions that were asked in the past year. Enjoy.
Question: Whenever you tweet/blog about being such a bitch you're just kidding right? or maybe just exaggerating? Theres no way being that bitchy can be a good thing in real life lol. or are you serious here?
Answer: Everything I say has some truth.
I'm an overly sarcastic and very sassy person, and those who are close to me could definitely agree. My blog is more of an exaggerated persona of course (I'm actually more insane than I am bitchy). It keeps things entertaining and creates shock value—you either love it or hate it.
Q: What is the biggest challenge in life that you have overcome?
A: Trying to learn to love myself and still today, I'm still struggling with it.
Q: Let's just say not if but when you get hit by a bus, what outfit would want to be wearing? Remember you will have to wear this for eternity in hell with the rest of us queens, who you know are gonna judge while tanning by the lake of fire.
A: I want to die in Dior Homme from head to toe—A black ultra slim suit, black leather slip on boots with a tall cuban heel with a slight pointed rounded toe, a crisp white fitted dress shirt, black skinny tie, black leather belt with silver hardware and black oversized squared shaped sunglasses. J'adore Dior.
A: Flip them the middle finger and say, "If my bag was fake, it would still be more real than your personality."
Q: How would you describe the man of your dreams?
A: Tall, dark and definitely handsome. Someone chivalric, who takes initiative, sympathetic, a total romantic, MUST have a great sense of humor, who loves wine and dining, appreciates fashion but DOES NOT have to love it, who will send me random messages in the day or night out of love, someone tall enough to kiss my forehead, loves to cuddle, someone patient, who is reassuring and comforting, someone who is confident but not cocky, someone spontaneous, a handy man who can build and fix things and someone who has goals in life.
Q: What's the sweetest thing anyone has ever done to or for you?
A: My birthday last year.
I was surprised with a bouquet of my favourite flowers, then was whisked away to a surprise cocktail picnic on the hills of a park by a bed of flowers, which was then followed by a wonderful fine dinner at a French restaurant.
Q: What do you do at times when you feel like a complete failure? I don't know what I can do to make myself feel better
A: Breathe.
Q: Out of curiosity, what do your "haters" hate about u or your blog? I find it quite sad that anyone would want to send a hate mail to u or anyone! do u ever pity or have compassion for them because they don't know u? BTW yourblogissuperfantastic!!!
A: Thank you for your kind words, I really appreciate it.
I've been called a materialistic whore, a pretentious fucking faggot, a gold digging cunt to how ugly of a person I am inside & out—I've been called just about every single word in the book of profanity because of my blog and how I present myself.
Even though I try to take it like a grain of salt and try to brush it off, having nasty comments and emails sent to you such as those that attack just about every single part of your well being is really disturbing and still very upsetting. But when your someone like myself who put themselves out there to the world through a blog, you should expect to be judged. The internet is an ugly thing.
Q: Like Oprah usually asks her guests, "What would you tell you're younger self today?"
A: The best has yet to come and that NO ONE is ever worth your time if they don't respect you. Lesson learned.
Colleague: “YOU dress like a good friend of mine.”
Me: “Excuse me? You mean YOUR friend and I dress alike.”
Colleague: *blank stare* “Uhhh. . .”
Me: “. . .Because I dress like no one else but myself and I don’t know your friend to dress like him. So in correction, he and I dress alike. NOT that I dress like him. Got it? Capisce? Good.”
*snaps*
Px.
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It may sound silly to many, but never EVERRRR would I place any of my beloved designer handbags on the FILTH-ridden floor grounds of any public area. Give it to your assistant, BITCH or friend to hold on to when you are in need of both hands but never should you place your Louis, Chanel, Prada or your Birkin on the ground unless you had a loaded gun pointed to your head by a heroin addict of a robber.
When I say designer handbag, I am referring to any major luxury brand name handbag. It is generally European made and NOT mass produced by the millions in a sweat factory in China because if that was the case, by all means toss your purse on the floor and nearer to the trash can, where the quality of it is equivalent to.
My designer handbags are like my babies. I respect and treat them all with utmost care. Each and every single one of them cost more than about 2 months house rent, so why would I ever want to treat something I worked so hard for so poorly? Besides the value, it’s mainly about prestige. Unless you had money coming out of your ass to set on fire just for fun, I would immediately assume a bag was fake if I were to ever catch a person chuck it around as though it was a rag doll.
I’ve busted my ass and skipped meals to be able to afford the things I have, so for me, I take pride in the things I own by treating it with respect and if you agree you should all do so too.
So, how do you treat your bags?
Px.
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Being a bitterly-jaded person that I choose to be, I am proud to celebrate Valentines Day. . .SINGLE. Call me pathetic, but I will buy my own bouquet flowers, I will shower myself with gifts, I will enjoy a lavish meal to myself. . . BUT, I’ll wait till after Valentines Day on the 15th to buy myself chocolates since that heart shaped junk will all be on clearance at blowout prices.
So, what are you singles doin' for V-Day?
Px.
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Giorgio Armani S/S 2010 -- Armani Exchange S/S 2010 // Dolce & Gabbana S/S 2010 -- D&G S/S 2010
One out of 65,476,412 pet peeves of mine is when people have a problem differentiating the difference between a designer’s diffusion line and their signature line. Not a lot people understand this concept, that’s why I’m constantly found with my eyes rolled to the back of my head and ears completely tuned out.
A diffusion line is a comparatively
Diffusion Line -----> Armani Exchange -----> $
Got it? Because being the label whore driven person that I am, I’m not afraid to call you out and rip you a new one. I’m tired of people parading around and calling their outfits Dolce & Gabbana when really it’s only D&G Jeans. I’m generally not impressed with labels anymore. It really should be about the fit and quality of the merchandise. Those should be the determining factors of whether something looks good on you and not about the label tag that's sewn on the inside of that garment!
So, what is your personal take on designer's diffusion lines?
Px.
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--Gabrielle Bonheur "Coco" Chanel
Sincerely, thank you to all my readers and your support! Y’all make me seriously blush bright red like a fat kid who just ran half a block down the street! And if you want more of me, then I suggest you follow me on Twitter because I definitely update that a lot more than this blog!
p.s. photo credits to Michael R.B. Gibson & Christine Nguyen. Thanx for taking pictures you guys since I was too intoxicated to remember that I brought a camera! xoxo
Px.
Call me SNOBBISH, completely crazy or a pure slave of fashion, but I would not dare leave the house without looking prim and remotely proper. I would rather slit my wrists and bleed all over my Pradas than be caught dead in public sporting oversized heather grey sweatpants and shoes that are even embarrassing to wear to the gym!
YES ALRIGHT, I’ve been spotted at my worst a few times in public in the past by professional colleagues and with their brows raised so high up at me in disgust—you would have thought it was drawn on! But that’s not that fact of my obviously high maintenance rule. I’ve come to believe that looking your best will make you feel your best. It’s a great way to build confidence so WHY would you EVER want to spoil that by leaving the house looking like a loony spinster that does jig-saw puzzles all day with her cats?
Besides from looking your best and the way it builds confidence, Lord knows who you may bump into?! Maybe our grade 9 teacher’s assistant who’s still ridiculously gorgeous or that hot server from Cactus Club, whom you always ask to get served by?! *blushes* Because ya. . . likke you know, situations likke that can likke. . . happen to you . . likke you know. . .
Well that’s just my two cents of the day. Take it, leave it, eat it or shit it. Just don’t be surprised if you come across a picture of yourself in your disastrous outfit on my blog in the filth ridden “What Not to Wear” section. xoxo
Px.
Leaving my designer clutch at home and trading in my skinny jeans for a pair of loose fitting straight legged denims for a night, I attended the BC Lions football game for the first time and OF COURSE because it’s the story of my life, I stuck out of the crowd like a sore thumb.
I might have spent more time toying around with my BlackBerry and fixing my hair than watching the actual football game but I definitely enjoyed the experience. Actually, I had more fun evaluating and analyzing everything that was around me. Distasteful outfits, the bored girlfriend, the outrageously drunk fan, the cute father & daughter bonding, the red-neck hicks and the Gotti dressed douche monkeys. But my favourite is the “Bro Bonding”.
So I guess the bro thing to do when you’re at a game is to sit one seat apart from one another with an empty seat in the middle to validate the fact that you are not “together”. I saw this come about more than a handful of times in EVERY direction from where I sat. It's as though all these alpha males had to prove the fact that they were straight. C'mon now, nothing screams "I am NOT a raging homo" than a raging football game!
Sure there’s an abundance of empty seats everywhere and people can basically sit, lie, die or shit anywhere they wished or pleased, but c’mon boys, you wouldn’t have to shout back and forth over the loud announcer if you just sat next to one another because honestly as I sit directly behind you, I could give a rats ass about your shitty job at the office or your girlfriend’s yeast infection!
So stop shouting!
Px.
I just wanted to say THANK YOU to all the Ed Hardy loving Douchebags and Douchebaguettes out there who have ruined fashion for us all! Mucho gracias hijo de puta! Ai papi!
My perception of style has completely changed and just the idea of wearing anything with skulls, tattooed inspired or anything bejewelled that is NOT Balmain, makes me want to gag myself in agony. Don’t get me wrong and I won’t lie because I did go through an embarrassing Ed Hardy & Christian Audigier phase with the bejeweled caps and flashy gotti detailing, but that was like 8 seasons ago when it was kinda. . .well sorta. . .borderline cool?
Anyways my work place just received a few new Prada hand bags in-store for the fall season and one of the bags completely caught my eye. The beauty was a men’s black, calf leather, Prada tote with a skull and cross bow, which was intricately made out of sheet metal, nuts and bolts. Similar to the one picture to the left, BUT made in luxurious black leather instead of cheap nylon and with daunting signature Prada symbol place discreetly on the side instead of the front.
I ooohed, ahhhed and sashayed around my work place with the bag as if it had always been mine, but being the analytical character that I am and being on the verge of debt, I had to resist myself from purchasing another handbag especially of one with a Douchebag’s insignia logo on it.
It’s a gorgeous SIMPLE bag and the leather material is so supple it’s to die for but it’s something about the damn skull that ignites all the hate I have for all that Affliction, Ed Hardy, etc crap. The skull is not even that bad looking (its kinda cute, actually) but I’m just completely bothered with the association that it comes with. So I had to put it down and walk away like I just broke off a long-term relationship. *sigh*
Oh my lordy . . . I’ve gone insane because I literally just turned my back on a Prada!
Px.
Being the outrageously vivacious, but overly sensitive person that I am, it’s normal (and completely annoying) for someone like me to be prone to drama.
I don’t know why, I seriously don’t but I’m a complete drama magnet like annoying pilling lint balls on a cashmere. It continuously follows me and literally gives me the temptation of mailing a request to MTV asking DEMANDING my own reality television show because with so much immature and soap-opera like garbage that happens in my life, I’m surprised I haven’t gone insane or gone into rehab. . . .yet.
I’ve cut off more than a handful of people out of my life in the past year because I can’t stand bullshit especially when my career path has no time and patience for nonsense. Sadly of course, another name was just recently added to my chart of ‘BLACKLISTED’, which is unfortunate because that SELFISH PITIFUL INDECISIVE FOOL meant a lot to me.
Too bad drama couldn’t be dealt the ol’fashion way like in high school, where you just meet up in the parking lot after school to scrap it out or even slam each other senseless in the bathroom stalls until someone is knocked unconscious. I think I would have a better time doing that and then walking away with my outfit adjusted, my hair fixed and my nose powdered without any resentful feelings left inside. But I've graduated and grown up. . .so I’ll just lambaste and butcher them on my blog instead.
Px.
Sure, they can fork out a couple thousand dollars with ease for a cashmere sweater with a tiny brand logo on the chest, but they ALWAYS want some kind of deal or freebie along with it. This ain’t a damn BOGO-“Buy one get one free” event at Playless Shoes, so please save yourself some dignity and save your discount comment elsewhere!
But sometimes, the worst part is when you have kindly told the
Px.
Whoever is the visual merchandiser that created this “Douchebag & Douchebaguette goes to the beach” window display should be shot.
Tattoo polluted printed tees, Velour track pants, TACKY PVC metallic tote and just plain bad accessorizing . . . The only pitiful thing missing inside this box is a pair of Crocs, but then again, you could just walk a few stores down and purchase a pair of repulsive at the Crocs store that’s soon to be open right in downtown Vancouver's Robson Street. *gag*
Px.
Customer: I like these jeans. I want this in a 30 inseam.
Me: Sorry these jeans only come in one standard sized inseam of 35 inches. But we have a professional tailor who can shorten them quickly with no problem.
Customer: NO. It’s too long. I don’t want it. I WANT a 30 inseam.
Me: We have more jeans on the side, please feel free to have a look.
Customer: I like these jeans. I want this in a 30 inseam.
StarvingStylist: Sorry these jeans only come in one standard sized inseam of 35 inches. But we have a professional tailor who can shorten them quickly with no problem.
Customer: NO. It’s too long. I don’t want it. I WANT a 30 inseam.
StarvingStylist: . . . Well in that case, BURBERRY KIDS is upstairs on the top floor. You’ll probably have better luck finding something there that’s made for a 10 year old to fit your 38 year-old midget sized body. And hunnie, NO ONE ever gets what they WANT, because if I did, I wouldn’t WANT to be here helping idiotic customers like YOU with a brain of 10 year old!
Px.
My worst fashion nightmare has come alive. . . Crocs, the awfully REPULSIVE and absolutely disgusting plastic slip-ons have invaded Vancouver and is now opening its first store, of most likely many, right in the heart of downtown’s shopping district of Robson Street. It took every ounce of me to continue walking, instead of smashing the empty store front and spray painting “NASSSSSSSTY” in florescent fuchsia on the bare walls. Agurckkkkkk!
So, suffocate me with a garbage bag because there is NO GOD and if there were, he has no fashion sense.
Px.
Px.
Excuse me for my recent short-term hiatus in the material world. I was suffering from BROKEN HEART syndrome, which left me stuck in an emotional rut and looking like a battered post-operative, cosmetic plastic surgery patient; chapped dry lips, puffy blood-shot red eyes to the swollen Rudolph-the-reindeer-like nose all caused by the constant sobbing. But best of all of course is the intense rail-thin body, which could make any supermodel jealous that I have achieved by barely functioning on an empty stomach for the past four days.
I practically clutch onto my Gucci for dear life every night because it holds the sleeping pills I depend on to help me sleep at night. I sleep my days away, in hopes it will speed up the healing process but it’s just a rude awakening when it’s over.
So, I’m turning to what I do best for emotional help . . . shopping. I might not be able to buy my relationship, but fucking hell I can sure purchase a new partner named Cesare Paciotti. The best part is, I know my new bought partner will NOT walk away from me this time, but instead . . . with me.
Cesare Paciotti Black Leather & Suede Shoes (CPM509) - $480.00
Sneaker meets Dress Shoe.
Px.
This had all the perfect ingredients of what would be an amazing ménage-à-trois, unfortunately this “[Un]Inspiring Beauty” editorial photo for the May 09’ American Vogue is so lacklustre, I would rather stare at peeling wallpaper.
-Px.
“Sorry everyone, Britney has run out of BLOW and is unable to resume her show until she gets more of her FIX.”
That should have been the valid excuse issued at the Vancouver concert last night that left us audience members in the dark for 40 minutes booing and hollering, after Ms. “Wheres-my-blow-Bitch Britney Spears” walked off stage after performing only three songs! Don’t blame it on the smoking and the poor ventilation because BITCH PUHHHLEASE BRITNEY, we all know your pictured advocate smoker, and hellooooooooooooo you’re lip-syncing! That’s what you’re talented for, DUH!
That little major stunt pulled last night totally killed the enjoyment of the concert for me and since I wasn’t on any narcotics or didn’t have any alcohol left in my system, I left the concert even more bitchier than my usual self. . .and trust me, I’m already a normal bitchy person on an average day! And the fact that I was pact under a roof full of distasteful, scantily clad dressed polyester/rayon wearing teenagers and overweight mothers, I wanted to hang myself from the neck in disgust with my Britney lanyard! AGURH.
But on a serious note, I will give the concert credit for the amazing production set-up. The theme, lighting, props, dancing and of course the lip-syncing was superbly amazing!
What I enjoyed the most was the wardrobe and costuming which was created/designed by the human chipmunk duo, Dsquared. From the eye-catching and beautifully embellished Indian sari’s to the A.D.D. causing sequined bustiers and fleshtone body suits, everything was created tastefully scandalous! Loved it! So kuuudos to you Dsquared and as for you, Britney, you still secretly hold a tiny spectacle in my heart right next to the toxic smell of gasoline and my gimped kindergarten teacher. xoxo
-Px.
Keep your panties clean and polish up your fuck me pumps because the “CIRCUS” is in town and it’s not any kind of freakshow! Ms. Former-shave-my-head-bald and flash-my-vajayjay American Dream girl, BRITNEY SPEARS has finally got her shit together and I’m dying with pure EXCITEMENT to see what she has in-store for tonight’s concert! And seriously what better skanky opening act wouldn’t be better than
Uncle Karl may you bless me, if I come out alive tonight with my hair still perfectly intact, my Chanel clutch still on hand and without any scuff marks on my Ferragamo boots. Amen!
-Px.
