Do Blondes Really Have More Fun?

There are a few things in life that weigh over eurotrash's conscience as she goes about her quotidian minutia; one of these things is the age-old, mid-spring question that eurotrash annually asks herself: "should i go blonde again this summer?". 

Memory role call ensues. Is it really the case that mojitos with a hint of mint made her shine a bit brighter because her hair was lighter that night in atrani? Was falling in love that summer so much easier because her sunkissed glow was matched with the starlight in her hair and not in her heart? Does the Gucci green and red stripe demand platinum locks? Suddenly her summer memories become nothing more than the sound of "ue, bionda" rolling off the tongue of an oh-so-charming neapolitan boy as she crosses the piazza, donning faceshields and of course, blonde hair. I mean, don't get me wrong, gorgeous dark-haired eurotrash girls exist, but when so many of her summer dreams are accompanied by visions of blonde, it truly becomes hard to refuse this light temptation.  

So, eurotrash does what she does every mid-spring: makes a hair appointment and never EVER looks back. 

the following thought struck me as i lay in bed last night after having tried on some of my new clothes (this is something eurotrash loves to do: model her new clothes in her room): the one problem with a fabulous, unforgettable outfit is just that - it is unforgettable. how horrible it is to be noticed wearing the same great outfit twice (heaven forbid one is photographed) precisely because that outfit is so memorable? what an unescapable irony that almost makes one want to dress in the solid category of mediocrity so as not to be noticed. almost. actually, not even close.

here i am: 22.44 (24-hour clock is the only way to go for eurotrash), marking essays. as if my and stina's words about the boundless stupidity of feminist discourse had gone from my lips to athena's ears, about an hour ago i found a ferocious essay in my lap which argued for the complete male dominance and female submission in ancient greek myth. far be it from eurotrash to turn a blog about the ultimate summer (indulgence09) into a political diatribe against the feminists of the world. but ya know what??? eurotrash wants to be girly, she wants to be ordered for at dinner, she wants to be toted around the medi in a bmw and a yacht. what's so bad about that? submission to good treatment and fancy digs is in no way analogous to submission to abuse, oppression or silence (just ask giulio) NDR: Giulio is the better half of one-half of the eurotrash duo. He is coming to Toronto in t-minus 15 days and eurotrash can't.even.wait. it is because of giulio that eurotrash doesn't have to dirty her pedicured feet on the beaches of the amalfi coast but walks straight from her afternoon breakfast onto Big Poppa NDR: Big Poppa is Giulio's boat and yes biggie is always on the stereo.

"... it was all started by a mouse" - Walt Disney

Some people don't remember their first mickey mouse fashion sighting and then there are others who do. Eurotrash remembers. It was summer and it was florence; eurotrash was sitting on the curb across from palazzo pitti probably eating gelato (also known as dinner, ex post facto) admiring her new white ballet slippers, which she defiantly wore as shoes. Then it happened. Eurotrash spied with her little eye a little black mouse ear and nose poking out from behind a navy blue blazer, set on a white, cotton tee. Completing the look - an irretrievable pair of designer jeans and of course, white ballet slippers. Come to think of it, could this vision have just been a figment of eurotrash's imagination? Another fantastic muse to strut down the runways of her mind? 

Well whatever it was, eurotrash has never forgotten that vision. In fact, mickey mouse and co.  have become perennial icons in the eurotrash wardrobe. She's not gaga though, nor alone. The

mouse has found its way onto an entire Liu Jo collection, D&G tees and jeans, the chests of Louis Park's models, MAC lip glosses, Iceberg tunics and Carrie Bradshaw. This summer she will not have to look far for her new disney acquisition. PINKO has got her covered. Their s/s 09 collection features solid colour tees and hobo bags with polychromatic disney friends, Maga Mago` and Amelia, just hanging out on them. Looking over at her white ballet slippers, now soiled past the point of even cinderella-chic, eurotrash opts for a cute pair of mid-thigh high, black, biker shorts  and fringed poccahonis-meets-helen of troy flats..... A dream come true. 

What is it about a chanel icon bag? When LC flounced down the steps of the prebyterian church where heidi and spencer got married (i hate the conglomerate epithet "spedi"), she was carrying a leather shopper part of chanel's icon collection (that is, bags that have enraptured women despite a $3000+ price tag for generations and continue to haunt their visa bills for months after their purchase) and i stopped breathing for a moment. Perhaps it was the way the shopper fit so perfectly with LC's 50s -inspired outfit (blue off the shoulder a-line cotton frock cinced just-so by a black skinny croc-leather belt) or how she strutted in her louboutins with THE BAG hanging on her arm so casually, as if she were too immersed in her thoughts too even notice the icon on her elbow. But ironically, this is why the set of 10 chanel bags or so have earned the name icon: their presence transcends the wearer, whether she be "reality" tv show star, american first lady, socialite or MDF eurotrash (NDR: MDF = morte di fame, italian tag which aptly describes the girl who has $4.00 in her chequing account and a pink balenciaga in her closet, the undersigned). LC is perhaps too busy debating what colour she'll paint her nails next or what room she'll occupy in her parent's laguna beach villa when she moves back next season to contemplate the status of her quilted leather shopper such as I've done here. Nevertheless as she cooly stepped into her waiting car after Heidi and Spencer's ceremony (why she skipped the reception I'll never know), LC joined a league of women who will be long outlived by the icon they carried their keys and lipgloss in. oh chanel! this is why you never have a sale.

summer prep part II

Eurotrash has been notoriously spotted wearing new dior "faceshields" (a eurotrash neologism for sunglasses - because we started wearing them before they became a quotidian requisite. remember my transparent gucci shields sans frame from '03?) and smoking haute couture cigarettes (whether u inhale or not). 

It started with decadent, pearl-filtered Cartier cigarettes and since then, eurotrash has been in hot pursuit of sleek, pseudo-accessories signed by the revered house of Yves Saint Laurent.  They are eurotrash's current enigma da risolvere. 

As Isabelle, chained to the Cinematheque, asks Matthew to remove her cigarette in an oh-so-sultry way in the famous scene from The Dreamers, eurotrash gets her raison d'être. After all, Antonioni-style yacht adventures in the medi could spur existential moments where the only way out is by reading Sartre while getting a cute boy to strike a match and light your penchant for indulgence. 

There are moments when you have the impression that you can do what you want, go forward or backward, that it has no importance; and then other times when you might say that the links have been tightened and, in that case, it's not a question of missing your turn because you could never start again 
- Jean-Paul Sartre 

summer prep

now that i've finished my reading list exams (specialization in an esoteric topic is soooo eurotrash), i thought i'd more diligently update this blog. thus i begin professing my obsession and my downfall: fashion. though i know i have enough to wear this summer, images of myself with tear-streaked cheeks and clumps of hair in my hands, rended in frustration by my lack of appropriately beachy-cool attire for the amalfi coast keep flashing before my eyes. a eurotrash girl may not have enough money to get on the bus but she certainly always has something sufficiently fashion-y to wear. so i keep buying and buying and buying more and more and more pieces. everytime its the last internet purchase, the last visit to aritizia, the last peek in holts but it never really is, is it? my pink laptop has wrought the most damage, forcing me to gaze everyday at sites rife with that one piece that would complete my summer wardrobe and bring it to utter perfection. what can i do to fight when it has even memorized my visa number and enters it perfectly everytime when i'm contemplating making a purchase, taunting me that i don't even need to get up from my bed at 12:00 AM to up my bikini ante by three new suits? my latest find are these dior glasses and i've convinced myself that my look will be lacklustre and incomplete, that all the money i've "invested" in my beachy look will be lost without these. crusing the medi (my new eurotrash term for THE ONLY sea to vacation on) with long locks, skin burnished by a patina of golden tan and nothing on your mind but what to wear that night to positano requires these glasses. i'm sure you will agree.