Boobs & Boys: Something for Everyone!

It’s been a long little while since Style Spy went on a Stakeout, and so Saturday night I struck out with my camera, my blue Miu Miu mary janes, and two intrepid friends to have a few glasses of wine and hopefully be wowed by someone else out doing the same thing.

Readers, it was slim pickin's.

Slim pickin's for my kind of blog, that is. Had I been the sort of Style Spy who put photos of fashion disasters on the interwebs, oh, I would have been set for a couple of weeks. I am sorry to report that, if judged by last night’s evidence, we must conclude that the women in Austin are not as style-savvy as one might hope, and that the addition of lots & lots of money doesn’t really seem help at all – although we already knew that, didn’t we?

Here is one of Style Spy’s Eternal Laws of Fashion:

Just because an outfit is expensive doesn’t make it good.

Here is another, and I’m telling you – ignore this at your peril:

Just because you CAN wear something doesn’t mean you SHOULD.

Both of these laws have a lot to do with the way the offending garment fits. The most beautiful Valentino dress in the world is not going to work its rightful magic if you are squeezed into it like a bratwurst. And just because you can squeeeeze into it doesn’t mean it fits you. If you cannot breathe, if you panic because you’ve dropped your car keys, if you are reluctant to hug a friend you unexpectedly ran into because you’re not sure what those contortions might do to your carefully arranged bits & pieces, the dress is too small. If the dress requires more thought re: support mechanisms than, “Hmm. This one is going to need some Spanx,” it’s too small. If you cannot find (even after trying on Every. Single. One of them at Every. Single. Department store in the mall) a support mechanism that allows you to wear a dress without unsightly bulges and rolls (And I’m not talking about the ordinary ins & outs of the female form here, before you start yelling at me – those I love and encourage. I’m talking about the more sinister and unpleasant effects of elastic & other types of constriction.), the dress is too small. (Or just badly made, in which case also you should purge it from your life.)

If your clothes are too big, you look slovenly, sloppy, unkempt. This is never good. But if your clothes are too small? You look cheap. And that’s even worse.

Here’s another important Eternal Law of Fashion, this one aimed especially at avoiding the dreaded Look of Cheapness:

Tits or Legs. Pick One.

If your dress is so short that you should carry around a towel in order to sit hygienically in public places, resist the urge to display the handiwork of your plastic surgeon. One or the other. If you have great legs – god bless you. Work ‘em. If you have a lovely décolletage, who could blame you for showing it off? But if you are fortunate enough to be graced with both, well, I’m afraid you face a sartorial Sophie’s Choice each & every time you get dressed. Flip a coin, or alternate, or devise a logarithm. Whatever. But choose.

Or you'll look like this. Seriously, what is WRONG with this woman?

At this time, I’m going to go way out on a politically incorrect limb and say some things that might upset some folks. I apologize for any potential hurt feelings, but Style Spy was traumatized last night, and needs to vent.

Why is it that the direct result of getting breast implants appears to be the irresistible urge to expose said implants as fully as possible at all times?

Seriously. I saw a truly shocking display of… um… flesh last night and without exception the goods were fake. (Not to mention the new podiatrist I saw for the first time last week who was obviously on quite an aggressive self-renovation program. I don’t care if you’re wearing a lab coat over the strappy camisole, that kind of cleavage is not appropriate for a doctor’s office.)

How do I know they were fake? Oh, puh-leeeeez…

And yet… sitting next to me was my friend A, a curvy blonde bombshell with a truly pulchritudinous poitrine (which translates to “spectacular rack”). This is the body A came with – she’s had this shape her entire adult life, and one cannot help but admire the restraint with which she treats these potentially devastating weapons. She occasionally indulges in a bit of tasteful cleavage, but just enough. (A cleavage aperitif, as it were.) A little goes a long way in this area. A knows this and acts accordingly. Consequently, though she has a shape that could easily lend itself to looking cheap, she never, ever does.

(Or you could do what Camilla Parker Bowles does and distract the eye with many shiny sparklies. Dang. That is some... necklace. Seriously, I think she looks great here, but with jewelry like that, who NEEDS cleavage?)

Is it just that I only notice the fake ones because they’re so obviously fake? This is possible, I suppose. But of all the women whose exposed chestal zones caused me & my companions last night to gasp in dismay (Seriously – multiple times we actually gasped. There was a real potential for spit takes.), not a one of ‘em was sporting original equipment.

And so, dear readers, my Stakeout was almost a bust (yeah, I know…). Not completely, because I enjoyed the company of my friends, and I had some nice wine, and the weather was lovely for sitting outdoors and talking about fashion and life.

Plus, we saw these guys:




And if I can’t show you fabulous fashion, I can at least show you cute guys in cool clothes.

This is Nelson (in hat) and Jason. They work nearby the restaurant where we were lounging at a clothing store called Metropark, and they were wearing store wares. The looks are probably a little more Willliamsburg hipster than Style Spy herself could pull off, but these guys looked great. That rosary t-shirt especially intrigues me; I asked Jason if it was Galliano – it has a very Galliano vibe about it, don’t you think? I’m actually thinking I might be able to work that into the wardrobe this winter (perhaps under my incredibly fierce black Boudicca jacket, with a straight gray or black skirt and my Weitzman Goliaths). A wants the Eat the Rich t-shirt for her boyfriend, and can we talk about how much I love a young man in a hat? I loved the way these fellas owned the clothes they were wearing – it was fun to watch them walk by. I’m definitely dropping by there to score some stuff for my 19-year old nephew, and maybe something for me as well.

How was your weekend? See anything good?

Photos: agentbedhead.com, BCN.net, Acclaim Images, Telegraph.co.uk, Style Spy