Unsatisfied in the bedroom as of late? Fret not, chickadees. You don’t need a man or a vibrator to get yourself off. All you need is a credit card, a slightly distorted sense of reality, and some
In an oversexed culture, Valentine’s Day isn’t merely a celebration of love; it’s a holiday on which we’re supposed to get laid. Pre-copulation trinkets are traded among couples; anticipatory drinks are purchased among singles. Forget about the notion of sexy as a make-up free woman wearing a man’s button down shirt. On the eve of February 14th, intercourse is the end game, and you BEST have a costume for the occasion. And by costume, I mean apparel inspired by strippers, dominatrixes and burlesque performers. Garter belts, teddies, bustiers and babydolls – shit you’d never otherwise wear and shit he probably doesn’t know how to take off.
Look, I’m not opposed to splurging on a lacy bra and undie set in the spirit of V-day – good boyfriends deserve an occasional reward in the form of a drool-worthy ensemble. I’m just not on board with for-sex-only attire, as it tends to have a lifespan of 15 minutes (hopefully more, if your man has solid foreplay skillz :P).
Sidebar: Ladies, if you’re sleeping with someone on a regular basis and dealing with subpar foreplay, do not grin and bear it. Few things are more confounding to men than our respective hoo-has: You must communicate! A good lover gets off on getting YOU off, and won’t be offended by a little guidance. But for fuck’s sake, be POSITIVE. Do not do what I did in the early stages of my relationship, and allow your frustration to manifest as criticism, eye rolls and an aura of huffiness. This person is trying to please you, and your equipment is infinitely more difficult to master than his. Be patient. Be kind. And be adventurous – “Show, Don’t Tell” is an incredibly effective exercise. According to
The cutout teddy is a study in slutty geometry.
Is this Halloween? Because that pink and black number is very, very scary. Also confusing. What’s the continuous line from the cleavage to crotch supposed to mean – start at boobs, follow the slutty pink road, and put wee-wee here? The
The maid costume. Sweet Jesus. For sexual suggestiveness sans cliche, see Hanky Panky‘s After Midnight Bodysuit.
It takes me 30 to 45 minutes to execute the at-home manicure process convincingly, drying time excluded. Is this an adequate use of my time?
Not by a long shot. I’m sorry, but a chip-free paint job isn’t all that rewarding if it robs me of my ability to type ludicrous speed (and by ‘type,’ I mean hammer. Delicacy ain’t my thang.) I do my own nails on rare occasions of extreme boredom; I tend to enjoy the challenge more than the results, which are subpar at best.
Press-on nails are obvs quick-fix alternative to the time suck that is the DIY manicure, but the cheerleaders who used to *accidentally* bump me into lockers wore them, so they kinda scare the shit out of me. I can still hear them drumming their fingers on the wooden desks, anticipating the four minutes between classes allotted for terrorizing freshmen girls. Clickety clickety clickety, tap tap tap. Eek!
Press-on nails are out on account of traumatic association. At home manicures are out on account of being a pain in the ass. Is there an alternate strategy for DIY nails, or is a keyboard hammerer like me sentenced to a life unpainted?
Yesterday, whilst browsing the beauty section at Duane Reade, I got my answer.
The solids are good; the glitters are better. And the PRINTS! Outrageous!
The nail polish strips cost $8.99 a pop, and last up to ten days. Duane Reade was sold out of all the prints except the butterflies – sad, but not sad enough to dim my enthusiasm. I’m on a mission for the fishnet and houndstooth strips, and I’m willing to scour every drug store in the city until said mission is complete.
I said BRRR, it’s COLD in here (I said there must be some Clovers in the at-mo-sphere!…sorry). Even fashion’s pre-spring psychobabble can’t change the fact that it’s effing freezing in NYC. A few weeks ago, I realized the heinous extent to which I was unprepared for this winter. Oh sure, I have sweaters, heavy coats, the secret weapon that is the Uniqlo Heat-Tech top. What was my winter wardrobe lacking, and why?
Insulated, cold weather boots. Because they’re fucking ugly.
When I realized maintaining my protest against fugly footwear meant sprinting around town to stay warm, I cut my losses; I hate cold weather boots, but I really fucking hate exercise. So I sucked it up, hit Century 21, and spent money I didn’t have on shoes I didn’t want to wear. The shoes in question are faux shearling-lined, rubber-tipped, lace-up snowboots by
Buzz Front Lace Sport Boot,
Moola Ankle Boot,
Winter is a happy time of year for those obsessed with eighties cold weather accessories a la moi. I’m talking, of course, about leg warmers.
If you’re down with the leg warmer thang and need a versatile, budget-friendly recommendation,
The best part? The wrist cuffs are included!
Spiky Fur Leg Warmer and Wristlet Set, Candy Kiss Couture, $35.00.