As Glamour Girl was performing her late afternoon ritual of watching Oprah while sipping a nice glass of rosé (a wine with which she is rather obsessed, to the point that she is neglecting her erstwhile beloved reds), she was thrilled to see that on Friday’s show (Jan 28th), the Queen of TV was revisiting the ghosts of couples past, some of whom were very memorable indeed.
There was the scarily controlling belle dame sans merci, only she wasn’t so belle, but who, to her credit, has changed her ways and become more, um, normal. And there was the usual complement of gay-straight-bi-maybe-I-don’t-know couples. And there was Fran Drescher looking adorable—whatever. But the one couple GG remembers vividly from their initial appearance lo these many years ago was Trevor and Trina. Suffice to say he was best described by words not fit for polite company. And she was self-sabotaging and sadly suffering. I’d long wondered what happened to them.
I’m happy to report that not only did she leave his sorry behind, but she runs her own business and she looks fab.
(Photo: George Burns/Harpo Studios)
Now, what you can’t see in that photo are the glittery strands that sparkled from Trina’s tresses. I was mesmerized, as was Oprah, who finally asked her what those things were. Turns out they are what constitute Trina Marr’s business—Hair Flairs.
I love them, and yes, I can see that you’d have to be careful with them, especially at my age, and you wouldn’t want to overdo it. In fact, this wag says that only a stripper would be caught dead in these things. But I beg to differ. I think that for a party, or some special event, if you used very few of them, and certainly no crazy colors, just basic gold or silver or bronze, they could be quite subtle and add just a tiny spark of glamour.
Here’s Beyonce, who, of course, can get away with much more bling than yours truly can:
And here are some photos from the Hair Flairs website, where you can go to peruse to your heart’s content.
When I asked my hairdresser if she’d heard of them, she hadn’t. So I’m placing an order, and will bring them with me next time I get my hair done. I’m not afraid to experiment and would love to hear your experience if you do likewise!
Party Like It’s 1927!
Okay, Glamour Girl knows she is remiss for not having done a Golden Globes gown round-up—you don’t have to rub it in—for although she didn’t see the televised ceremony herself, with one of her favorite leading men, Ricky Gervais, leading it, she did immediately Monday morning go through the pix on-line to ooh and aah and gasp (in horror and delight) at the many splendored gowns. And though she is the first to admit that she suffers terribly from l’esprit de l’escalier, many wicked aperçus did pop into her head.
Alas, gentle reader, other events intervened, and she never got around to putting the thing together and now here it is Wednesday and if you wanted to see the gowns and read about them, I’m sure you’ve already done it by now. So apologies for my decidedly unglamorous shirking of duties.
BUT . . .
Because the beloved UPS man just arrived and delivered to my doorstep The Dress I Had Been Waiting For.
It is so divine, so breathtaking, so gobsmackingly beautiful, and so heavy, I practically need a lady’s maid to get into it. But needs must, and I managed on my own. It’s by J. Peterman (yes, that J. Peterman), and it’s called:
And it looks like this:
Now, I know, I know, it’s just a sketch. Not fair. But that’s the way Mr. Peterman does things, and I promise that at some point I’ll get an actual photo of it. In the meantime, take my word for it, it is spectacular.
I feel lucky that I even got it, because I’ve been watching it since last fall, and there was no way I was going to spend 600 bucks on it. I bided my time, waited for the price to drop, and just crossed my fingers that they’d still have my size in stock. Well, I lucked out, and in the nick of time. I see now that they have only two sizes left.
I have a chronic neck/shoulder injury, and right now, this thing is simply too painful to wear—it’s that heavy. But nothing like a little bit of pain is going to keep me from shimmying in this the next chance I get. I even have the perfect pair of shoes to go with it!
Tell me your Perfect Dress story in the comments section.
News from la belle France:
The current editor of French Vogue, the perennially bedraggled Carine Roitfeld, about whom I wrote in April, is stepping down after ten years at the magazine. She made the announcement just recently, and speculation about her replacement has been hot and heavy.
Well, the word is out. It’s French Vogue‘s fashion director, Emmanuelle Alt. And sorry, but she looks just as starved and heroin-chic as Roitfeld. I know this look is au courant, but please—could we not, for once, have somebody who doesn’t appear a hair’s breadth away from physical collapse? And how about a comb? Is that too much to ask? Alt also seems to share Roitfeld’s sad propensity for wearing fur.
In any case, since the promotion came from within, I’m sure the magazine’s over-the-top photo spreads will remain intact, but it will also, apparently, be covering more than fashion. What that actually means is anybody’s guess.