drunken plea of the week


marc, introduce me to: sienna miller

dear marc,

do you think you could introduce me to Sienna Miller when you hire me?  i think we would be the greatest of frenemies.  when i was in london, i saw her at the premiere of Interview, and even though it was Steve Buscemi’s name that i screamed on the sidelines of the red carpet, i still thought she was adooooorable. she was all poor-postured and weak-ankled and just kept smiling at everything in her slinky silk frock. and i love how the paps are always kind of, sometimes all over her and she’s like, “you guys! come on.” this would totally be us:

SIENNA: MATTY, what did you think of the new twenty8twelve show?

MATT: i thought it was GREAT, SeeSee. i was so happy to see that you’ve continued to make that bleach-splattered denim vest that made the line great in the first place.  i love the idea of paying $150 for something i can probably find at goodwill, without all the risk of it not fitting. or the excitement of finding something on my own.

SIENNA: you cheeky BITCH.

MATT: i’m KIDDING, baby.  really, i think you’re wonderful. hey, say a line from GI JOE.



SIENNA: well…alright.


SIENNA: “get out. GET OUT. (beat) nice shoes.”



MATT: we’re so fun.

SIENNA: one of us is.

MATT: gasp!

SIENNA: let’s have champers and blow for lunch!

so will you? of COURSE you will, you treasure. and you’ll get so much press when we’re arrested for being fun, and the only statement we’ll give to the press is, “MARC JACOBS.”



it’s like someone plucked a hair from zeus’ head, slapped some eyeliner on it and called it ZOE, goddess of body dysmorphia. i’m so jealous of her whisper-thinnery.

halloween dilemma

dear marc,

HEY BABY, let’s talk shop: this week we’re working in the costume shop, because halloween is only MOMENTS away and i’ve been obsessing over my costume for ages. OBVIOUSLY, i’m going as our favorite anorexic, coked-out fashionista/deceptively shrewd business woman, mary-kate olsen:

my checklist:

1. oversized flannel that barely covers my business: CHECK
2. MAJOR sunglasses: CHECK
3. black tights: OH YES CHECK
4. stringy, kind-of-strawberry-blonde-kind-of-just-filthy hair: CHECKKKKK
minor details i’m still waiting on…
1. fresh pack of marlboro reds (mk smokes reds, ashley smokes parliaments. YES I’M A STALKER)
2. florescent red lips
3. venti starbucks cup filled with black coffee (for the purposes of my night, i’ll probably just fill it with vodka)
4. giant, baby-stealing purse
you’d think i’d be super excited about my costume and planning all the wacky adventures i could have in it, but i was putting all the pieces together in my head today and i’m kind of worried that i’ll look less mary-kate, and more buffalo bill from the silence of the lambs:

clearly, there’s a fine line between the two ON A GOOD DAY, so god only knows which way i’ll fall when i’m all made up and completely polluted at a bar. pray for me marc. baby needs your prayers.

i just tried on the mk costume and… i kind of look like elaine stritch and kurt cobain’s weird, copycat friend who can’t really find his own style so he’s trying theirs at the same time. obviously there’s nothing WRONG with that but… wait. let’s do the math:



MARY-KATE. MATH WINS AGAIN. stay in school.

evil v. PURE evil

dear marc,

quitting smoking is ROUGH AND RISKY BUSINESS. i’ve done pretty well, though. i bought a pack of smokes on monday and it’s lasted me until today. that’s WITH sharing with friends/homeless moochers. i think that’s impressive, because normally i would have been done with those sin sticks after 2 days.
the REAL issue is this: do i even WANT to quit smoking anymore? i mean, YES i’m trying to avoid looking like a rough lohan, but look at her when she’s not being photographed ferociously close and with bad lighting:
look at her, hanging out on that couch with some guy she doesn’t know, probably thinking, “YEAH i’m gonna trick him into pounding this used cooze ALL NIGHT. hey baby, got a light?” she’s having so much fun! sinnin’ is so fun. and she looks cool and casual and all those C-words that everyone LONGS to be called (yes, even a bit cunty).
if i give up smoking, will i have any fun? AND WON’T I GET FAT? i mean, look at jessica simpson:
bitch probably didn’t smoke a DAY in her pure, poorly educated life. now she’s JUST as washed up and rough-looking as lohan, but she’s painting on her clothes because she refuses to be seen at lane bryant. at least lohan’s bone thin and casually careless with her appearance. poor jimpson’s just…well, the fact that the name “jimpson” fits her is enough of an insult.
give me some guidance, marc.


dear marc,

i really want to make fun of someone that we both know all too well, BUT I CAN’T, because according to this picture i just stole from perez,

lohan and i are NOT aging well, because we are both getting HEINOUS, deep-set forehead wrinkles despite the fact that we are mere 23-year-olds. that being said, i am positively, 100% giving up smoking today with the hope that my body will be able to heal itself and maybe i won’t go down the same twisted, gnarly road that lindz is stumbling down, with her skirt above her head and one boob flopping out.

my non-smoking mantra:
i am not lindsay lohan
i do not need this cig
i am not lindsay lohan
i do not need to age prematurely and die in 3 years so people will talk about me forever as someone cut down in his prime but god i’m glad i don’t have worry that i’ll be stuck standing next to him in a crowded elevator because he smelled like he just had afternoon sex with an ashtray
i am not lindsay lohan 

and i know you live in paris and smoke in the louis vuitton studio because it’s cool and you can, but maybe you should quit with me. we can hold hands. and you’re not getting any younger, honey.

ich liebe your mom?

dear marc,

i don’t know if this letter will reach you, because i’m sitting in a starbucks leaching internet and for some reason EVERYTHING is in german? i don’t know. i’ll make this quick——-
britney didn’t happen. i’m so pissed/not really. here’s the story: i went out with some co-workers, got waste case and then realized it was 2 AM and JUST couldn’t get my ass to heaven to see the queen of skank and her jiggly boobies. AND THANK GOD, because bitch didn’t even show. i bet there were so many disappointed gays, with their mascara and coke noses running all over the place. not a dry eye or anus in the house. poor them.
marc, have you heard of this chick little boots? she’s getting pretty big over here and perhaps you should google/iTunes her because i KNOW the bitch. here we are together:
okay, i don’t look too cute, but ISN’T SHE ADORABLE? we hung out one night, a friend of a friend situation. i’m sure you know them well. anyway, she’s going to be huge so start listening NOW before she becomes cliche. aren’t you so proud of my networking? you’ll need someone with ties to the music industry when you’re choosing models for next season so people will think that YOU listen to good music and will want to buy your product. just saying…
oh here’s a better picture:
yeah, much better. that’s such a good angle for my body. PECS!
oh my god this starbucks man has such a sweaty back. ew.
anyway, love your tits.
call me.

uh oh

dear marc,

thanksgiving is tomorrow and i’m getting kind of depressed. oops. things i’m looking forward to: THIS WEEKEND, because friday i’m seeing lykke li and saturday BRITTERS will be at the infamous club heaven. you KNOW i’m going to shove some fags outta my way to get close enough to smell her sweaty boob sweat sweat. look for pics of me in US weekly.


dear marc,

this has been a pretty low-key week. i partied it up with my fellow REISS employees for our supervisor’s sad departure from the great flagship store on barrett street. don’t worry, marc, i kept it all in my pants and my tummy. i managed to down a whole bottle of red wine and two pints of beck’s without vomming or ending up on aga’s couch. AND i even made it to work at 8 AM the next morning. are you so proud? it’s like i’m becoming a real person, or something. unless you don’t like hiring real people to be in your ads. if that’s the case, continue to consider me a mythical drunk vixen with nothing to give except a fierce pose and maybe a sassy remark. WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?
the real news of the week just kind of sprung up last night. david and i were re-kindling our friendship in a soho bar when i got uncomfortable with the way david was staring at some 12-year-old farmhand. i picked up the latest issue of OUT in the city magazine when i stumbled upon some party pics from the beloved trannyshack night at soho revue bar…
here’s the spread:
yes, i know all those trannies and even got kissed by justin bond on that very night. and YES, i realise this is a shitty photo, but baby can’t afford a scanner so…
okay, now let’s take a closer, burier look at this fine piece of photojournalism, because i think there’s something you might really want to see when considering who to put in any upcoming ads…
THERE. right there, under that pirate tranny hooker’s elbow and that seemingly straight guy’s beer bottle. do you see? IT’S ME. well, my left ear, anyway. i know you think i’m reaching, but any press is good press. this also proves that i am SO recognizable that not even a fat, one-eyed, man-bitch squeezed into a fishnet jumpsuit can upstage me or my ears.
WHAT MORE DO YOU NEED? clearly i can’t think of anything.
okay, if i don’t write you before next week, have a fab thanksgiving for me. is it weird that i feel kind of sad that i won’t be able to gorge on my mom’s delicious tofurkey and watch old episodes of the OC for 2 days? i’m sure i’ll get over it. it’s probably best anyway. remember, girl: a moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips.
stay pretty. i’m serious.

poop poop bashoop

dear marc,

last week was a BIG one and my balls still hurt from it. i got to see the SS ’09 line at reiss and LET ME TELL YOU it’s a gem. i finally want to start wearing the clothes. too bad i’ll be gone by the time all the good shit comes out.
the real drama/splendor of the week comes from the event we had with GRAZIA magazine on wednesday. everything was great at around 745–people were coming in, having a few free cocktails and spending drunk dollars on okay-looking things. great. THEN at around 930, when all the customers had left, my co-workers and i discovered that there were about 30 bottles of unopened champaign just sitting around, waiting to be guzzled down. AND GUZZLE WE DID. after i drank my weight in champaign, i headed out for a smoke, but not before drinking from a random bottle of vodka…that’s where it gets blurry. things i remember doing/saying:
–‘let’s get the fuck outta here, motherfucks’
–moving to the bar down the street and falling a little bit
–‘oh my god, i love you guys so much’
and then…NOTHING. the next day i woke up on my polish supervisor’s couch.
AGA(in a robe):Matt, darling, we is leaving in an hour.
ME(in my underwear):oooooooooooooooooooh my god
i thought i had sex with her for a minute. then i looked at my clothes from the night before and realised that aga just took pity on me because CLEARLY i was vomitting everywhere. and then i had to go to work, which was just awful. i was throwing up all day and randomly passing out on piles of clothes. i haven’t been that hung over since i got kicked out of kappa kappa gamma’s formal for throwing up on people. ug.
but really, it was all worth it. despite the fact that everyone keeps asking if i feel better and keeps giving advice like, ‘maybe you shouldn’t drink. ever’ i think i really bonded with my co-workers and made some flimsy friendships that should last until i leave london in february. and isn’t that what partying is really all about?
’till next time, darling.