If you could have anybody curate your life, wouldn’t the man for the job SO be Pedro Almodovar? Profiled in the much-abbreviated T — now, sadly, a mere supplement to The New York Times Sunday Magazine — Almodovar has always won my admiration for the super-graphic, happy-bright interiors that background, without comment, all the amazing women in his entourage. And while T’s Profile in Style nods to Almodovar’s obsession with decor, it’s gratifying to see other sources of inspiration, like the wonderful singers Caetano Veloso and Chavela Vargas, choreographer Pina Bausch and, surprisingly, “Taxi Driver.” But I am forever in love with this man who loves men because of his heart. Read this: “Almodovar remembers how hard it can be to select a winner [at Cannes]. ‘It was an enormous moral responsibility because the future of fragile films was in my hands. After that I felt I could never judge a competition again.’” Which, of course, is exactly why we need him to continue doing just that. A sideline in decorating my next home would be a bonus.

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Apropos of nothing, and for no apparent reason, I can’t stop singing Julie Brown’s classic, “Everybody Run, The Homecoming Queen’s Got a Gun.” Click the link and you’ll not only achieve the same happy effect, but I also predict that you, like me, will find yourself hoping for a cross-cultural Julie Brown comeback. I mean, hilarious and highly danceable? Hot damn, I grew up in the best decade ever!

Saltier than Bob Mackie, livelier than DVF and far less earnest than Eleanor Smeal, Helen Gurley Brown is far and away the best interview I ever scored as a journalist. The story was about Scavullo, her longtime Cosmo cover collaborator, and Brown was all frankly funny talk about putting “friendly girls” with “busts and cleavage” front and center. She addressed me by my first throughout our conversation, and she begged off my lunch invite as she apparently does with just about everybody — “most days I eat a tuna sandwich at my desk.” Sorta gives the gal some serious workaholic, feminist street cred that you just wouldn’t expect from, say, super-glam Gloria Steinem, doesn’t it? And happily, the new, decently received autobiography, “Bad Girls Go Everywhere,” serves as a reminder, notes the adoring New York Times critic Dwight Garner, of just how groundbreaking Brown’s work — the book “Sex and the Single Girl,” her early days at Cosmopolitan — was for its time. Which is what makes perusing Cosmopolitan in its current state that much more depressing. Brown might call me prude, but all the sex talk comes off as silly. (Could you get through even one “hot-fantasy” scenario in the current issue — “I notice a silk tie and wrap it around your … finish this fantasy” — without laughing your wah-wah off?) On the other hand, perhaps Cosmo was never meant for urbane women. Perhaps it’s meant as a kind of grown-up sex ed for the sort of underexposed rural woman that Brown once was, which has allowed her to speak so candidly of our country’s often ignored working-class women. For if Cosmo is their brain candy, it’s important to note that it also preaches self-love. And who could really say that about Vogue?

Who would you rather: Anna Selezneva as a boy? Or as a girl? I’m wondering how many rubels Anna’s been offered by Russian oligarchs to give ‘em both.

See the complete French Vogue shoot, “Comme Frere et Soeur,” on Pipeline at Refinery29.

If you are like me, and you were old enough in the ’80s to marvel at Isaac Mizrahi the Personality in “Unzipped,” but you were too young to experience Isaac Mizrahi the Designer through the clothes, then you probably figured like I did that you would never get the full Isaac Mizrahi fashion adventure (Target and an exclusive Bergdorf’s line don’t count). Now, all these years later, Isaac is finally, thrillingly, in my style zeitgeist. What happened? During Fashion Week, he sent out a super-fun, smart and idiosyncratic collection that laid to rest doubts about whether the old dog had any new tricks. At the same time, he started appearing, along with friends and models, in the first batch of print ads since he took over the once-mighty, lately-dowdy Liz Claiborne label.

The images are genius in their straight-forward appeal, seeming to say: “We are for all of you — and yet, we have a distinct direction. We understand you are of all ages, colors, shapes and sizes. And you are busy. And our male designer knows all of this because he actually watches you — yep, that’s him, clad in black and shades — because he really, truly wants to know exactly what you want.” And then he delivers a better, cheekier version of it. So, in effect, Mizrahi has gifted the ladies a double, putting two labels — one high, one in between (and thankfully no stupid, wasteful low) — on the fashion radars of women who never dreamed they’d get or be interested in either. Is Isaac Mizrahi the man of These Times, or what?