When I was a wee lass of an assistant at Visionaire, my daily unifom was anchored by a pair of shiny latex trousers found in an East Village S&M shop. Although I didn’t realize it then, they functioned as unconsciously appropriate suiting for the verbal beatings doled out by evil headmistress Stephen Gan. (Not that I ever succeeded in dominating anything about him except for his rage.) Then I gave notice, and I never wore the pants again. But that was in the era of, like, Y2K, and given today’s gory state of affairs — not to mention the chaos over which I will preside when MILFspring #2 arrives next month — I’m ready to reclaim my shiny, brutalist heritage in the far greater stylish guise put forth by the River Island kids. The tight nude top may be boffo for breastfeeding, but imagine the stain resistance!

River Island via Style Bubble.

Paraphrasing the wise words of the great Chris Rock: Gay people should get to be as miserable as the rest of us married folk! Show your support with an elegantly minimalist white knot — so tasteful, those funny boys and girls — which goes with everything, from your 501’s (see Levi’s white-knot-themed store windows, featured in The New York Times, for ideas) to inaugural gowns like Anne Hathaway’s (which, sadly, appears to have had little sway with the president) to bikini briefs. Make your own, or get a freebie at WhiteKnot.org.

You could probably say the same thing about these cotton espadrille boots as what I say about white coats in the city: You better have the bucks for weekly dry-cleaning bills. Thing is, these blanca babies cost a Clorox-worthy $174. Bleach may be poison but it is SO the make-it-happen godsend for recession-fabulous whites!

farfetch.com

If Liberace and Tony Duqette collaborated on a handbag line — would that the original kings of bling were here today! — their signature piece would bear more than a passing resemblance to the Santi Mega Bead Clutch. Fabulously tacky, with Miami shmattah-seller’s shiksah written all over it, the SMBC holds serious sun-moon geographic specificity. Wear it after dark in NYC with crisp whites, and don it for daytime in Dallas with Lanvin leopard print, preferably to a Save Neiman’s event. And if you still can’t get around the delightfully unslick, old-lady-ness of it all, try seeing those big blue beads as a surfeit of third eyes guiding your spiritual self right on over to your inner material girl.

www.intermixonline.com

The MILFspring is a busy little badass, and so it follows that her sartorial taste — authoritatively dictated by me — runs toward sporty and is rendered girlie via the hyper-presence of magenta. It makes sense, then, that her animal affections — arrived at on her own — similarly reflect yin-yang/boy-girl proclivities. The climber in the kid adores monkeys — they are the only thing living on her version of Old McDonald’s Farm — but ever since a trip to Butterfly World in Boca, she is likewise obsessed with the fluttery beauties, rechristening “The Hungry Little Caterpillar” as “The Butterfly Book” and flopping the book’s final spread to evoke flapping wings. Then again, perhaps the climbing/flying thing merely connotes a need to be higher than everybody else. In any case, isn’t artist Louise Richardson’s butterfly dress the MILFspring’s perfect Amagansett frock? Never mind that she’ll tear off every last applique.

via StyleBubble