style icon: rocky horror partygoers

dear marc,

the Oscars are tonight; are you attending? were you invited? i wasn’t (fuckers) BUT THIS IS WHAT I WOULD TOTALLY WEAR IF I WAS:

AAHHHHHH. do you die? i’m fucking dead. i love their little, shrunken tuxedo jackets! i’ve always wanted to be one of the party people from Rocky Horror Picture Show because they’re so FUN. i would constantly be having FUN and worried about ripping my second-skin satin skinnytrousers:

those are TIGHT, literally and figuratively. i know that if i was at the oscars, they would seat me next to natalie portman and she would be like, “i’m loving your pants, but i couldn’t fit into those because i’m SO HEAVILY PREGNANT RIGHT NOW,” and i’d be all, “GIRL, shut it. yes you can. these pants can work on ANYONE”:

see? that fat fucker not only FITS in the pants, but his legs seem so long and bendy that he could be Gumby’s gay cousin on a coke binge–aka PERFECTION. he’s a god.

too bad i can’t afford to look so FUN all the time. i guess you should hire me and give me a generous clothing allowance so i have an excuse to attend the ‘scars with NatNat.

xo

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trapped in grey gardens

Dear Marc,

Help me.  I woke up yesterday and realized that I’m living in Grey Gardens.  I’ve got shit piled up everywhere and I spend my days wrapped up in a cable-knit sweater blanket, singing to myself, longing to get out of my self-made hell.  Marc, I need change.  I need you to be the Jackie O to my Little Edie.  INVEST IN THIS MESS.

That image my sadden and horrify you, but I think our kitchen is the worst part:

I know, we should start calling it Smellrose Place or something, but, in defense of me and Big Edie (my roommate, Jenn), the following are true:

  1. We come from single-child families, and when we were younger our mothers cleaned up after us, so it’s not a stretch to believe that, because our lack of responsibilies during our youths, we would grow up to become slobs.  YES, I’M PLAYING THE BLAME GAME AND YES, I’M WINNING.
  2. It’s COLD OUTSIDE, Marc.  AND our trashcans are like 100 feet away and we don’t want to walk through the snow AND through the creepy alley behind our house to get to the trashcans THAT MIGHT NOT EVEN BE OURS.  We don’t even know if we HAVE a designated trashcan.  Do I have to remind you of what Little Edie said about winter? “Very depressing, you know, when winter sets in.  Any little rat’s nest in New York, any little rathole even on 10th Avenue I would like better.”
  3. YES, I could take out the trash during the day because I’m unemployed, but then how would I have time/energy to find obscure movies on Netflix?  EXACTLY.
  4. We’re just two singles ladies who don’t have anyone to clean for.  And we drink a LOT, so…
  5. That’s not our Coca-Cola chair, so don’t judge (although it does prove what a mismatched shitshack we live in).

GET ME OUT OF HERE, MARC. Save me before Jenn dies of consumption and I throw a towel on my head and start feeding cat chow to the raccoons in the attic (is that racist?).

Faithfully Yours,

Matt

ZOE-BABY

OH MY GOD MARC—

how THINNY IS OUR ZOE LOOKING THESE DAYS????
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.
xo

plea # 6

dear marc,

i still don’t have a job and actually i’m downgrading my living arrangements to a hostel because girl this shit’s EXPENSIVE. i’m pretty sure it will be one in notting hill, which is good because it’s super cute and MUCH SAFER than this car-bomby, knife-stabby hell hole i’m in now. jesus i hate this place. i applied to be personal stylist at banana republic yesterday, so if you have any pull there you MIGHT want to use it, you bastard. oh, i hung out with a few famous people this weekend, mainly MY MODEL TWIN AND YOUR MUSE, cole mohr:

yeah, he was at soho revue bar. clearly i could perform just as well IF NOT BETTER than him in an ad. exhibits A & B:

fIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIerce. it’s like we’re LITERALLY the same person. except i have better legs.
i also got pushed in the face by that tranny slut jodie harsh’s bodyguard THREE TIMES. jodie, if you’re reading this, FUCK YOU. why do you even NEED a bodyguard? you’re not even that cute/famous. marc, tell jodie she can fuck herself for being an elitist cooze. here’s a lovely shot of me from punk, and just another reason you should put me in an ad. i would def fill out that dress better than cole:

clearly this photo says the following:
1. i will lift a total stranger’s dress to get the perfect shot of her sweaty lady briefs.
2. SKINNSIES
3. i work well with others while still keeping the focus on ME ME ME ME ME.
4. what i lack in physical beauty i make up for in stylish headwear.
okay well continue to wish me luck on my job hunt. I KNOW I KNOW, i never should have quit that other job BUT WHATEVER. it’s my life, marc. IT’S MY LIFE.
hire me.
xx
oh PS. i saw cillian murphy in soho today. scott and i followed him for about 10 minutes until he caught wise and ran into a crowd on oxford street. that’s okay cillian, one day I’LL be running from YOU.
xoxo,
your future muse