Brother, Can You Spare $185 a Month

Edit is now big into game shows, so yesterday I turned on Wheel of Fortune for us to watch while I made dinner. The man won $100,000.

"Now he can buy cable," she said.

Worth & Worth's Jakob hat. It costs $425, and doesn't appear to be anywhere online, just at 45 West 57th Street. I had so fallen for this one, but returned to my senses, at least until I spotted Ralph Lauren's New Mexico Blue Label line. I could do this look. Even in the horizontal stripes. Even at $1,000 for the outfit, sans shoes and bag.

Although maybe I have to start with a horse.

"Cholesterol is at 172, and your HDL is 85. Great," the doctor says. "But your liver enzymes are ten times the acceptable top limit. What kind of medications are you on?" Apparently the anti-liver ones. This means I'm either an alcoholic with liver cancer or I have hepatitis, neither of which seems very likely since I don't mingle blood much and drink less now than my last work-up. In fact, as my cholesterol count is so good, I think the one-a-day wine has been helpful. But it doesn't matter. I have been instructed to stop all drinking and all OTC painkillers until further notice.

I'm still waiting for further notice. I'm getting crabby.

Oddly, I had just started seeing a wholistic practitioner. I have been killer exhausted ever since a ski trip to Italy. I was thinking it was simply menopause making its rounds, but when I mentioned this to a girlfriend, she gave me the name of the new age doctor and said simply, "You know, life isn't always our ovaries." This doctor studied six different medical systems. I thought there were, at most, two, Blue Cross/Blue Shield and Darfur. The nurse hooked me up to two electrodes that in the span of 4 seconds reported in a print out that at a rest my body burns 1600 calories a day and I'm a Libra. The questionnaire had asked me about my faith, the office was filled with George Harrison music, and all the hot drinks were un-caffeinated. What am I doing here, I wondered.

"It's your adrenal glands, I suspect," the doctor said to me at the end of our two hour session. I thought she was going to pin it on my thyroid, a popular diagnosis here where thyroids wear out faster than winter tires. So I was pleased she had something unique for me. "What's an adrenal?" I wanted to know, but instead of an answer I got licorice supplements. Back home I tried to look up information about faulty adrenal glands, but I was three quarters down my first hit before noticing the term "Veterinarian." Then I had the bloodwork done that had been authorized by my Western doctor. The Eastern doctor seemed to be in the ballpark without so much as a single needle or machine. But now certainly the Western MD's are going to step in and get aggressive.

I was happier thinking it was my ovaries.

I'm thinking a visit to Sandra Day O'Connor's OurCourts.org site ought to be good for copy.

Kevin W. Sharer became the CEO of Amgen in 2000. He was featured in yesterday's Times, explaining that when he came on board, he spent 150 hours with the top 150 people of the company, interviewing them, getting to know them, doing what sounds like a real Six Sigma, touchy feely series of individual feedback sessions.

And then he fired most of them.

Lesson learned? I don't know. Never let down your guard?

Cleaning Crew

I sat around last Saturday night with a handful of women of substantial means. When the conversation turned to notifying other parents of children and potential internet abuse, the women focused on an acquaintance who refused to believe her children could ever do anything wrong (unlike the rest of us, uh hunh) and that her control freak ways had spilled over to an insistence that she clean her own home. "She has money," the group said. "And a full time job. Why not get some help?"

"Oh," I understand that, maybe. "I feel awkward not cleaning up after myself, myself. It's not like I do it - I don't have the time and the house shows it, but there is something inside me that prefers mess, I guess, to having someone come in and mop up around my feet. Or else I'm just too cheap."

The ladies stared at me with that look of processing information. I had no idea what they were all thinking, except that I could tell they were all thinking something, like never eat anything she brings to a gathering. So I decided to give in, to cave, to hire a semi-monthly cleaning team and try to gain back at least one day a weekend for writing, photography, or maybe the kids. It started this morning. The two women came in, gave a treat to the family pet, and then split up rooms between them. As I was gathering my things to get to the office, one of the women asked, "Do you rent?"

I have no idea what that means. What is it about my house that suggests I rent?

Working on a piece on prom dresses, I found a Faviana long gown in a print that reminded me of Midsummer Night's Dream, with spirits of yellow and celedon, and hints of blue and orange, whisping about against a white background. I loved it. The other adults - male and female - in the office thought it was lovely. The 19 year old who was helping me with the image layout labeled the dress image "crazyassdress".

I may be the only person to distrust antioxidants. I read this article, figured that everybody else was marketing anti-oxidants for the fear factor that opens pocketbooks, and simply stayed off the band wagon. The Science Times today didn't report any benefit in the heart or cancer arena. I'm more curious to see if it is actually dangerous to load up.

Edit has taken to pomegranate juice and seeds, but I don't know why. Some other influential 8 year old must have convinced her because that it was for her own good because I don't think she likes it. She drinks the juice with the same reservation that one drinks wine. She doesn't guzzle.

Tools for a Paradigm Shift

I almost gave up on television this week, thanks to Tool Academy. After five minutes, my chest started to seize and I wanted to grab the girlfriends on the show and say, "What are you some kind of crazy, lazy, spineless losers? If your guy has been a tool to you, then why stick around? What's that you say? You think you're can change him? Oh, well then, after that five minutes of good behavior passes, what will you do? More importantly, haven't you been paying any attention to runway fashions this season? Where were you when Berlin, Paris, New York, and Milan all presented their best in current female attitude? You must have been busy washing his underpants because your 'But I love the lout' attitude is as out of season as invisible zippers. I'm serious. The new look is, 'Don't take anybody's crap,' but your closet is as garbaged-up as Rihanna's, full of 'I guess I don't deserve any better' ensembles."

A girl can fantasize.

But it is true, about the clothes, and although many link the looks to sober economic hard times, there is something very strong in all of it, optimistic even. Imagine Quest for Fire and Mad Max: survival of the fittest clothes. Think Nancy Drew gone goth: edgy, independent looks. Remember your kindly grandfather or great-grandfather: someone's got my back fabrics. If you can imagine these things, then you are half the way there to understanding how substantial and how much potential there is in the new collections. I'm not going to dress in waders, leather diapers, or a sweater with a unflattering sideline flow, but the fabrics, the colors, and the concepts within this Prada outfit, I get. I remember. They are the materials of my wise, reticent grandfather, who had at critical times in my life leaned forward to whisper in my ear, "Here's how you win at life, Kitten..." I didn't see the Prada outfit so much for the odd combination. My reaction was a subconscious, "I can do anything, now."

Except my thighs. I could never get my thighs to look acceptable in that get up.

Buff State/Erin Habe's Runway 2.0 is scheduled for April 25 at the Burchfield Penney. Be there. It really is a party scene, and the students are doing whatever it takes to get collections ready.





Photos by Catherine Berlin. (If you want images of the production process to help spread the word, email me or comment.)

I learned something very important as I stood outside the DMV on Rockaway Boulevard in Queens yesterday waiting for the doors to open: Men dress bad. Okay, I can qualify it if it makes you feel better. Most men dress bad. Most straight men dress bad. Most straight men who are standing in line at a DMV after just rolling out of bed dress bad. But, I think the first one sticks. Beyond "where in the world is your ass" jeans, the big look yesterday morning was the egg-shaped leather jacket tooled with intricate designs of favorite sports clubs (the Jets), past-times (street cards), or tourist attractions (the Statute of Liberty). It doesn't work on women, either, like on this old NY Times image of Anna Sui. Unless snow globe is the fashion statement you want to make, straight lines flatter.

Bill says: Do they think that this stuff looks good? Do they think that it makes them look good? Are they serious? There is no sense in which wearing a white leather jacket depicting a street corner crap game is going to make you look sexy or menacing, or encourage anyone to take you seriously. Someone should tell them. And isn't the point of jeans to make your butt look good? Even for guys? This wasn't a belt the jeans at the top of the thigh intentional gangsta look, either. There had to be a string of at least forty, 30+ year old men who looked like schlubs, and, oddly, alike in uniform from the I Don't Give a Shit What I Look Like club.

Skin Care

This winter has been especially rough on skin. Not even body butters (without any water in the ingredient list - the water actually gets into the skin layers and freezes - not good), Vaseline, and drinking lots of water have saved my hands from cracks that don't heal and brittle lips. Ew, I know. On a recent trip to the Alps, I gave up thinking I had all the answers. Worried over a crack near a finger nail that would not heal for two months and headed into an Italian pharmacy. I simply held my finger out to the pharmacist, who then inspected and gave me a cream with an antibiotic in it. Within three days it had healed. Bizarre. I had worked with my best stuff from over here to heal that crack and nothing worked. Lesson? Don't hesitate to ask a professional. And for skin care, Italy and France pharmacies seem to have magic potions - if you travel there, explore those shops.

All of my winter adventures interrupted some experiments I was conducting with June Marie Russo over at You're So Vain. She works hard to find the latest skin care regimens and bring them to our area. She treated me to a Bio-Visage Microcurrent Face Treatment, and I was working on testing out Silk Peel on my forearm and shins (left side only, for control purposes), to get them ready for Spring. These treatments use different methods to infuse botanicals and serums into the skin, working on hyperpigmentation and hydration. I could tell that the Silk Peel was removing the darker, blotchy skin tone that plagues my always sun-exposed forearms, although I didn't work with it long enough to see how it would effect fine lines around my wrist and fingers. And it made my decollete to look fantastic - a really tough area to keep young-looking. It must have plumped the area up somehow. If I were twenty-five again, these are the treatments I would start investing in to keep the skin in such great shape: a solid sunscreen and micro-technology. At my age, they help keep me healthy looking - which helps in its own way, including pychologically. As for cost, well, every budget has a set-aside for appearance. We spend on hair cuts and manicures, waxing, etc. Work these skin treatments in. The result is less obvious (which can make it hard to stay committed), but it is impossible to overestimate the value of having 30-something skin in your 40's and 50's. No haircut or nail color can do that.

Oscar Fashion 2009

I shot Fashion Week and disappeared into the Alps just long enough to get pneumonia, but before I get into all that, a word about the Oscars red carpet. Keeping with my promise to be constructive (see Spreeblog), I'm limiting my discussion to three things: boobs and Kate Winslet.

I know why the Brit star gets under my skin at the awards shows. She is an actor, but can't get past a screen test on winning honors. For example, her "I'm shocked and speechless" affect at the Golden Globes, was followed by an off-camera request for her to in that case exit the stage, that she in turn rebuked with an "I'm not leaving until I read my speech." She also claimed to have revered Meryl Streep since the 33 year old Winslet was a little girl. Ouch. (I'll take her out for you, Meryl. Just say the word.) Then there is the "Oh, I couldn't have plastic surgery; I need it of course, and don't have anything against it, but my hubby won't stand for it," schtick which is patronizing tripe. But I wanted to be completely objective when I saw her on the red carpet. Severe, tailored, glamorous, and one-shouldered but flattering to her decollete and physique, and despite what others have criticized as a too dominatrix hairstyle, I liked the style. We don't all live on the beach, and an updo is completely appropriate with formal wear; it should be encouraged, even. But then, wait. What was that on the tulle? Were those - hearts? Big black hearts on an all-serious gown? Lesson: You can blend thrift shop with couture, but be careful mixing formal with any design you might find in a Hallmark store.


What I found most inspiring this year was the number of perfect bustlines. Those that worked offered softness and coverage, an interesting ruffle or a mid-century modern cut. Even Miley Cyrus, whose dress walks the line between beautiful and Little Mermaid (I've decided that the singer/starlet has the style moxie of Cate Blanchett - a good thing), knows how to show just enough to keep men interested but the cat calls at bay. (At left, from left, Daniel Craig's wife Fiona Loudon , Diane Lane, Alycia Keys, Miley and Letisha Cyrus.)

Other frontages done right are - perhaps the rightest - include Viola Davis in a big fav Reem Akra. The dress does it all. Melissa George's Dior neckline is simply wonderful, but the jewelry is too lightweight to offset the intense blues and blacks, heavy satins, and patent leather belt. Tareji Hensen shows how weight matters, with her own powerful necklace. But it is a harder call if the beautiful neckline worn by Evan Rachel Wood (in Elie Saab) is enough. The fact that the dress is the same color as her skin helps make the earrings stand out, although the effect is more dramatic in Streep's selection with the draped neckline, deep color that compliments the skin and hair tone, and dangling earrings. Lesson: Accessorizing is hard. Sometimes the dress is enough, but if in doubt, seek other opinions.

But color, as we mentioned above, doesn't get enough attention. Everyone coo'd over Natalie Portman dress (with a lovely bustier that fit her perfectly), but a stronger hue would have kept her from disappearing. The same is true with Robin Roberts who actually carried the halter dress well, but she needed more color, more power: deeper, as with Amanda Seyfried in her Valentino. Valentino understands the power of color. Another alternative for Roberts would have been to go lighter, because of the deep tones in her skin.

Frontages that showed a lot of breast or destroy the form or ignore underarm issues mock the red carpet. Did Sarah Jessica Parker get implants? I don't care if she did, but a gown should not make that that the foremost question in my mind. Queen Latifa was almost perfect - see how much better the connected side looked than the shoulder that was left to battle with gravity? I love Penelope, but not in ironsides underwear. For more insight into how the exo-skeleton look fails, see Naomi Watts and Sheryl Crow in their Vanity Fair after-Oscar party dresses, here.


Another popular look is the Italian Restaurant. It works on Amy Adams (in Herrera) and Susan Downey (inBluMarine), but even with a Prada label - or because of it - GQ's most perfect body-girl, Jessica Biel, disappears. When she hosted the Geek Oscars three weeks before, she chose a dress that complimented her skin, hair, and make up color, and looked regal enough for the occasion. The Fashion Police may adore Biel in the Prada, but all I saw is a woman who could barely walk, looking like she was hobbling to the shower. Lesson: A label is no guarantee.




Finally, I have to ask. Did Capote fly in from a skiing vacation? As for Heidi, great hair, great earrings, great color, great neckline, but I would have adored this more with fewer slits. Her jewelry about her neck and forearm, was perfect. Find out what she is wearing and buy some for yourself. Mary Hart reminds us that crinkles work best with solid colors. Otherwise it looks like you slept in the gown.

See you at the Kennel Club.

Marvel Me This, Batman

Was there a Mrs. Sub-Mariner? I mean, at first it seems an okay gig. Not a lot of clothes to wash. But then there would be all that polishing and drying, and what is that suit, crochet? Herring? Maybe Nike has some new Olympic alternative, but then what do you do with all the hair product bottles lying about in the bathroom. I'm telling you, there is more than water keeping that do in place. And is it just me, or does he look a little tense? Yes, I agree, disturbed. Cripes, you work all day, come home to your man, and as you lock up the Sea-Doo and carry in the plankton, you have to plan your method for deflecting doom and disturbia? I don't know. I am a giving person but there are limits. And what about feeling flabby all the time? I would feel flabby.

Poor guy. It's almost as if he were a landlocked wage-earning from 2009. From Miami. Image from here. Art by Michael Turner (1971-2008).

X-Box The Zero Edition

I opened my eyes as a whisper. I recognized the dark bedroom, and with equal certainty knew that my left hand was resting on top of my daughter Edit's head. Less sure about the weight I felt on my chest, I dropped my eyes enough to be able to outline the nose end of our dog. The rest of her stretched out alongside me, the length of the bed. All of her was snoring. Then I glanced towards the windows. The shades were still up, but even with the stadium lighting from the hospital across the street, I could see nothing outside. Frost had completely coated the panes. Comforted by contact and a down duvet, I decided to avoid consciousness as long as possible. But as I am a human game of Mouse Trap, I began to massage the top of Edit's silky head, which caused her to swing an arm and a dead-weighted hand into my face. With consciousness now barging through to the surface and shoving inner peace off the yoga mat, I realize that both bed rules: (1) sleep in your own and (2) no dogs, had been clearly violated during my ski-induced coma. The last thing I remember of the night before was, "It's time for bed, girls," followed by, "It's only 7:30, Mom."

Twelve hours earlier I had turned on the weather. Channel 4 reported a -6 F morning. I wanted to call my ski partner and say, "My lungs won't work at less than -2," but instead I told the kids that maybe they should wear gloves and if their hair allowed, a hat, shoved them out the door with a cold but organic-ish pop tart, and started looking for layers. Hodgson Russ, LLP was throwing its annual ski day holiday at Holimont ski resort, and I was going as a guest of a friend from M&T Bank. Yeah, it was cold, but this was a free lift ticket at a private club. Free and private betters the temperature of anything by 10 degrees, at least.

At zero degrees, snow squeaks, wind-tears ice up on lashes, and the soft foam on the edge of goggles hardens into face biting steel. At zero degrees, you start calculating the windchill caused by your own vertical drop and you don't dare take off a glove to answer a cell phone. At zero degrees, you ski moguls. You have one bad knee and a family to support, but to stay warm, you ski moguls. But at zero degrees with a 10 foot base, babies stay home and the snow conditions are dude-perfect. So we break-necked down the hills without worrying about a slushy stick-trip, or ice patches. We didn't have to extend courtesies to slower skiers, because there weren't any. (Sure, we'd get a brain freeze at the bottom of every run, but since when did a brain freeze ever stop anyone from sucking down the next milkshake?) Then, near the end of the day, after Hodgson had enticed most of the slopes into the lodge with food and entertainment, I discovered I could turn the runs into a video game. I started at about 10 yards behind my partner and with full out recklessness followed in his tracks, around curves and turns, through the black diamond trails, never sure where he would go. It was if I were in an X-Box, and I felt like I was nine years old again. We did this until the shadows masked the runs' blips and bumps. Only then did we get sensible and take our frozen body parts inside to thaw. Image by CB.

See You At the Semi Annual Show

Mayor Bloomberg delivered a press release: "Starting in the fall of 2010, the bi-annual Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week events will move [from Bryant Park] to Damrosch Park at Lincoln." Um Mayor, it's a semi-annual event. CityHonorz was hardly alone in this error. Newsday, Examiner.com and StyleAmmo also confused bi-annual (every two years) with semi-annual. I'm no William Safire, either. I got my own lesson on the proper use of bi and tri when my long ago boss slammed me for suggesting, "Three times a year is, um, tri-annually." But when the economy has everyone wondering what, if anything, is worth the overhead, showing smart is just plain smart. Photo of Akiko Ogawa collection from F/W 2008, by Catherine Berlin.

Steuben Glass

Upstate New York is Steuben country. Two years ago I featured a Joel Smith menorah in a Buffalo Spree column. I appreciated the simplicity and how it must have weighed like lead, and at $4,500 it qualified as a "keep the kids away" piece, a solid sign of value. Smith has created this year's hand cooler, tchotsky for those who suffer from sweaty palms and the constant obligation to get up from a desk chair to meet clients. (Less wise for a conference or business lunch. A fist-sized wallop of glass in the shape of an cow, whale, or bunny is tough to hide in your pants or jacket pocket, although I'd appreciate watching someone try.) But as much as I'm a Smith fan, it is Peter Dronby's Glade series that has me contemplating how many quarters I have to pilfer from co-worker's desk drawers. I can't remember the last time I looked at a piece of glass art about the size of piece of letterhead and thought, "It is so worth $9,000." Cate

Spanx Me

I've avoided the Spanx line. I have a problem with girdles and other binding and life cinching things outside an S&M fantasy. Either be comfortable with your shape, or get in shape. Constricting wear is as 21st Century woman as button boots and pre-suffrage. But out looking for a black bra one day, some store woman insisted I try a Spanx Bra. I did, and it was great. Its big promo is that it helps avoid back fat marks, but honestly, if I can't see it, then it is a problem that I don't know I have. If I don't know I have a problem, then there is no problem. But still, the bra felt great on, more gentle actually than most other bras, and certainly less involved than anything Victoria Secrets. I recommend that every woman, large or small, try one. It's less a fix it piece than a tremendously comfortable piece.

Go figure.