"If You Don't Tuck In Your Shirt, They're Just a Girdle."

In a recent post--the one featuring a dead frog wearing an unflattering belt, perhaps you remember?--I implored you to open your mind to higher waisted pants, to see them not only as unflattering evil-doers, not only as, well, this...

...and to think of them instead, as the title suggests, as a girdle you can wear on the outside without looking like a schizophrenic hobo or Sienna Miller. If you have a bit of a belly (or a lot of a belly), lowrise jeans are not your friend. They have the power to create a "faux muffin top" (I learned so much from that frog email, seriously), and they lead, inevitably, to this. Seeking out a pair of jeans with the waist even a few inches higher can have wonderful results, for you and for the world.

In response to my highfalutin' claim, reader Beth posted the following comment:

Do a post on cute, semi-normal looking (not the super fashiony ones, nor the mom ones) higher waisted jeans, please!

Alright, alright, if you insist!

Here are the top 3 that I've come across so far. All are fairly expensive, but--not to worry!--also easily found at discount stores and on ebay. ("Ebay, friends, not retail," says wise reader Nadarine.)

Joe's Jeans

A few of you mentioned your love for Joe's in the comments of the Frog post, and I, too, have experienced the glorious revelation of trying on a pair. They're seriously amazing, and many styles have a rise high enough to be seriously slimming as well.

However, I do not own a pair, and here's the most random story ever to explain why: I went to Nordstrom a few months ago, fresh off the enthusiastic advice of no less than five friends and acquaintances that "You MUST try Joe's! Seriously Winona! GO! NOW! DO IT!" I trotted over to the snobby section where they keep the designer denim, cornered a saleswoman who resembled Jessica Alba (damnit), and told her my plight:

Me: So, I hate buying jeans. They never fit me cuz I have a giant belly.
Saleswoman: Oh my god, I totally understand! I have the same problem!
Me: DAMNED LIES! (OK, I didn't really say that, but I wish I did.)
Saleswoman: I have the perfect thing for you, you're gonna love 'em. They're a "curvy" style--
Me: Wait, here's the thing, though. I'm not curvy in the normal curvy way. Curvy jeans are for hourglass figures, but I'm more like...an urn. (I so wish I could have used the frog body analogy, but alas, I was not yet enlightened to the concept).
Saleswoman: Oohhh....umm...
Me: What about Joe's?
Saleswoman: YES! Joe's! You MUST try Joe's!

And so she sent me into the dressing room with a pile of Joe's jeans. I slipped on a pair of the Muse style, and they were so comfortable and flattering and belly-containing that I literally almost cried. Then I tried the Provocateur, which were even more comfortable and flattering and belly-containing, and I believe I did shed a tear (jean shopping is an emotional experience, you know?).

This model may be a frog, but you'd never know it.
Joe's Jeans "The Provocateur," $179, shopbop.com

The jeans were fairly spendy (Joe's can run up to $200), but I decided that any piece of denim that could make me cry, in a good way, were totally worth it. I was on my way out of the dressing room to make the purchase when I stopped.

In the time I had been admiring how good my ass looked, the store had totally changed. An extremely douche-y DJ had appeared between the racks of $60 t-shirts and was spinning extremely douche-y R&B. Streamers were on the floor. Candy bowls were on the shelves. Weirdest of all, the Nordstrom salespeople were ignoring me. Excitedly swarming around something about a hundred feet away, they were completely oblivious to me and my impending purchase. Jesus, how long had I been in the dressing room? Had I actually fallen through the mirror into some sort of shopping Narnia, where customers dance to Chris Brown in the aisles and Nordstrom employees aren't paid on commission?

I finally tracked down my saleswoman and asked her what was going on.

Rushing over to join her coworkers, she squealed, "It's Joe! From Joe's Jeans! He's here! It's him! He's signing denim! It's an event!"

And then I saw him. Joe. From Joe's Jeans. And he was a douche.

I know, I'm totally judgmental, I need to get to know him, blah blah blah, but good god, his hair was tied back in a long, shiny ponytail, he had a DJ playing the soundtrack to his life, and, worst of all, he was wearing a giant pair of polarized sunglasses...inside. The entire Nordstrom staff was flitting and buzzing around him, complimenting everything he did and asking if he needed anything at all, and he wouldn't make eye contact with any of them, looking absolutely above the situation. He actually looked like he was smelling a vaguely foul odor, and while we were in range of the store perfume sniper, Joe, come on, you're charging us $200 for cotton, how about a smile?

As much as I loved the jeans, I couldn't bear the thought of my money funding another pair of indoor sunglasses for Mr. Joe, so I put them back (longtime readers may recall my similar issues with Jessica Simpson shoes). When I left Nordstrom (or Narnia, whatever), I felt a little righteous, a little richer, and sadly, still shaped like a frog.

Moral of the story: Joe's Jeans rock. Joe does not. And wow that story got long.

Moving on...

Lucky Jeans

Lucky is such a great company and, as far as I know, their CEO does not wear sunglasses inside. Most of their jeans are made in the USA, the quality is excellent, and I want to be best friends with all of the girls who work at their Portland store. I've found their classic rider and easy rider styles to be quite effective at holding in the midsection, and I've found them at discount chains like Marshalls for thirty bucks.

Easy Rider, $98, luckybrandjeans.com

Not Your Daughter's Jeans

I'm so in love with these jeans, especially the aptly named "Tummy Tuck" style. As the brand name implies, they're aimed more at my mom's generation than mine, which made me feel a little nervous buying them, like the cashier would ask for my ID and then glare back at me, declaring, "You're just a daughter! Security!"

Luckily, I was able to purchase them without incident, and I wear them quite often (by "quite often" here I mean "every day of my life and sometimes to bed").

I bought a pair like this on sale for $12 at the Rack (I swear they're out there!), and they look so adorable when you don't tuck in your shirt (I repeat: do not tuck in your shirt) and add cute shoes and a bright top.
NYDJ Tummy Tuck Rhinestone Roll Cuff Stretch Capris, $118, nordstrom.com

Anyone have other suggestions for jeans high enough to gobble up muffin top (wow, I apologize for that imagery), low enough (or, like, not ugly enough) to avoid the Jessica Simpson look?

That Spicy Marinara IS hot!

For my Sex and Media class last week, we read this awesome article about the Food Network's striking similarities to porn. If you want to waste some of your workday today, I highly recommend it, if just for passages like this:

"Giada prepared some Italian cookies. As usual, she dressed in a tight, sleeveless top. 'Now I can touch the dough and elongate it,' she said. 'I’m getting it all over my fingers.' When Giada squeezed a lemon, the camera moved in for a closeup of the abundant yellow stream. 'All that juice,' came Giada’s thick voiceover."

After our class discussion, we watched this Nigella Lawson clip called Solitary Sensations (hey, that sounds familiar...), which left everyone sort of sweaty and shifting uncomfortably in their chairs:



Gosh, the things they put me through to get a degree...

Prom Pix!

Fiiiinnnaaallllyyyy, some pictures from my epic (if I do say so myself) 80's prom birthday party a couple weeks ago.

My friend Laila and I (our birthdays are days apart) rented an auditorium in an old high school and threw a joint bash complete with punch, rice krispie treats, and awkward grinding to the Eurythmics. We even pulled a Diebold and handed the prom queen election to ourselves. Those fleeting hours wearing a plastic tiara were, by far, the best of my life.

Disclaimer: By being friends with me, you forfeit your right to privacy. Plus you all look hot so don't complain. Thank you.

My friend Katelyn and me. As I mentioned briefly in a previous post, my persona was "insecure Madonna worshipper," so I went with a tight sequin dress, red tights, a black tuxedo jacket with the sleeves rolled up, a pile of religious necklaces, and some seriously augmented eyebrows that didn't come off for two days. Totally. worth. it.

Left to right: DJ's hott date Jenny, Prom Queen Laila, Prom Queen Winona.

Yes, my boyfriend is this cool. Sidenote: Basically every morning, he has a violent fit about how much he hates his hair, repeatedly whacking himself in the head with a comb and yelling, "It wants to be 80's so bad! I'm tired of fighting it!" So this party worked out well for him.

Based on Laila's pose, I'm assuming this one was taken during "Walk Like an Egyptian."

Here my boyfriend and I illustrate a dance made famous by a kid who rode my bus in 8th grade and is now in jail for attempted murder. It is called the shopping cart, and here's a brief step-by-step so you can practice and, ideally, perform it at your wedding:

1. Walk in a straight line with hands out in front of you, as if you are pushing a shopping cart.
2. Stop every few feet, look to the side thoughtfully.
3. Raise your hand to meet your gaze and mime taking a can off a grocery store shelf.
4. Inspect the imaginary can's ingredients (see my boyfriend's pose above for reference) and look at the imaginary price tag. Put some effort into this step, work it, think about it--Do you really need another can of hominy? Could you get a better deal at Costco?
5. Either put the imaginary can back on the imaginary shelf, or enthusiastically toss it into your imaginary shopping cart.
6. Continue walking, repeating steps 1-5.
Note: Music is optional.

A highlight of the night was definitely the dance line (or whatever the hell you call it), when all of the guests formed two lines (it happened surprisingly spontaneously) and clapped while each person rocked some sweet solo moves down the middle. On a related note, does anyone know if it's possible to end one of these un-awkwardly?

Alec and Henry brought sexy back. Way back.

Alcohol was not allowed in the venue (yes, it was that authentic), so some of my besties got to live out their childhood dream of drinkin' in the boys' room. I'm glad I could grant them such joy.

Some photobooth gems:

Bad girls.

My friends Scott and Kelly arrived and proudly announced that they were "sexually active seventh graders." My love for them grew by a thousand percent.

My friend Meg heard it was an 80's party and decided to go as a TI-83 calculator. Lindsay pushes her buttons.

Meg's husband was a Macintosh. I have the coolest friends ever.

My goal was to look as awkward as possible for the whole night. I think it worked too well.

p.s. Rachy we missed you!!

High Fashion Haiku Sonnet

I have the best readers ever, seriously. Delilah wrote this sonnet for her high school English class, and if she doesn't get an A, I will happily visit her school to throttle the teacher:

Ode to Christian Louboutin (And His Shoes)

Thine red soled slippers doth my heart swoon
My closet doth yearn for thy chic style
Even though heels make my ankles break soon
For you, love, I'd march more than a mile
Black patent leather are quite a classic
With a peep-toe, or not is your option
Yet thy price is longer than Jurassic
I sincerely hope for your adoption
Should a miracle happen, such as that
I would do a very big happy dance
See? I love you just as much as my cat
Thy geniosity must hail from France
And although you may not know my name or face
Should I grade thee, t'would surly be an ace

Dear Daddy Likey: It's Hard Out There for a Frog

Dear Daddy Likey,
I have what I like to call a frog body. (check the photo if you're confused)

As a swimmer, I have huge [broad] shoulders. I go in a BIT at the waist, but according to the technical fashion rules of body shapes, I'm a "vertical rectangle" or "vertical hourglass". Woo. BUT! I go in NOT ONLY at my waist, but at my hips, too, rrrright where my pants sit, like a frog's body. This can sometimes create a faux muffin top, which makes me sad inside. I am tall (5'10ish), so one might say "Gee, what about trying some oh-so-fashionable highwaisted pants?!". Well, I HATE highwaisted stuff, unless it's an AA style skirt. I'd like to hide/fix my frog problem without having to resort to a life of empire/baby doll tops and dresses. Any suggestions?

Hoppily Hoping to Hear from You!
Diane Von Frogenberg

Dear Diane,
I loved your email not only because it's the first time a fashion question had been accompanied by a photo of a dead frog, but also because I had gone my whole life without realizing that I, too, have a frog body! I feel so enlightened and relieved, sort of like the way I felt when I found out the secret twist at the end of The Village, minus the urge to kill M. Night Shyamalan.

Now, most fashion blogs/magazines/tv shows would tell you to just throw on a belt to define a waist and create an hourglass shape. Unfortunately, this is one of the greatest cultural myths of our time. Since I am easily brainwashed and have a steep learning curve, I throw on a belt almost every day expecting a grand transformation, but all I get is more emphasis on my ample gut. Our model illustrates this point:

Belt does not equal Marilyn Monroe.

As the proud owner of a frog body, here are my top tips and tricks that do not include throwing on a belt:

1. Buying pants sucks.

Oops, that wasn't a tip or a trick, but seriously, trying to find pants when your hips are smaller than your waist is a nightmare. It's been even more of a nightmare for the past, oh, ten years or so because of the proliferation of lowrise jeans. Jeans that hit at the hip or below serve as something of a sartorial muffin pan, forcing your belly to bloom out over the waistband, so I've always viewed lowrise jeans the same way my mom viewed lesbianism in the 70's--an appealing trend, but ultimately not a good fit for me*.

Therefore, I implore you to reconsider your hatred of “high waisted” items. As my friend Lyndsey once said: “I love high waisted pants because if you don’t tuck in your shirt, they’re just a girdle.” Wiser words were never spoken.

Seriously, go to a store, pick out a pair of jeans with a high (or even mid) rise and a straight or slightly flared leg, and put them on. Pair them with a shirt that hits a few inches below your hipbone. Look in the mirror. If you still see a frog, I will pay you $100. OK, I won’t, but I will give you a back massage and a mimosa. OK, I won’t do that either, but you get the idea.

Even this high will do. Not so bad, right?
Gap, $59

2. Rock cardigans, and rock ‘em hard.

Cardigans are a frog’s best friend, because they flatter your neck, boobs, and shoulders while skimming over your belly. Play with different styles and lengths to see which are most flattering on you. I found a shrunken cardigan about a year ago that somehow perfectly hides my lovehandles, and I wear it so often that it’s faded and pilled and full of holes (for this reason, I’m currently engaged in a zealous campaign to bring grunge back…Come as you are, indeed).

This cardigan + long black tanktop + your new favorite high rise jeans = one hott frog.
jcrew.com sale, $60

3. Learn to layer; love to layer.

This ties into tip #2 (cardigans are by far my favorite layer), but layering effectively (as opposed to dangerously) can be really flattering and make your outfits more interesting. I personally almost never leave the house without a stretchy binding underlayer to mush my stomach into submission (my friend Rachel, who wears only comfortable, soft, flowy clothing, is horrified by this practice, but that’s another topic for an upcoming post). Try a longer tanktop under a billowy blouse, or a black vest over a men’s v-neck tee, or a fitted jacket over all of the above.

4. Embrace skirts.

Trying on dresses, for me, is not unlike a stay at Guantanamo Bay: it's humiliating, demoralizing, and often leaves me crying publicly in my underwear. Dresses have to fit perfectly in like 80 different places simultaneously--they're basically a mathematical impossibility, especially when your belly is bigger than your hips (I think if you tried to tell a fashion designer that not all women possessed smallish hourglass figures, they would say, "What do you mean?")

If you, too, find yourself on the unflattering end of this equation, consider joining me in giving up on the damn things (life motto: There is much honor in giving up.) and embracing skirts instead. Try flowy knee length skirts, mini skirts with bright tights, those favorite AA skirts of yours. Playing with proportion in your outfits is the best defroggifying (deeeefffiinitely my new favorite word) strategy I've found, except for, possibly...

5. Spanx.

*When I called my mom and asked, without explanation, if I could write about her lesbian yearnings on my blog, she said, "As long as you make it clear that I didn't actually do anything. I thought about it a lot because I was down on men and it was the cool thing to do but in the end I just couldn't get there."

Woodrow Wonders...

When I get done chewing on a log, it looks like this:


When Stella McCartney gets done chewing on a log, it looks like this:


She's charging $1500 for hers. How much do you think I could charge for mine?

Cordially,
Woodrow

p.s. Thanks Pam!

It's My Birthday and I'll Have a Unibrow If I Want To

Today I'm hard at work preparing for my 1982 Junior-Senior Prom (theme: Hollywood Nights) Birthday Party Bonanza. God willing, in approximately seven hours, I will look exactly like this:

Wish me luck. Pictures to follow.

p.s. Have you guys seen the breathtaking gloriousness that is the Safety Dance music video? Definitely waste part of your Friday checking it out, if you haven't:



p.p.s.s. Wendy Brandes, your post today was scarily prescient...Did you hack my email, you saucy minx?

Fashion Mad Libs: Are Presbyterians getting their annual pancakes?

I am SO sorry for the massive Mad Libs delay. I got suddenly and extremely ill on Tuesday night and was unable to perform my blogging duties (or, for that matter, any duty that involved getting up off the bathroom floor). From now on, I will be sure to appoint a Daddy Likey Vice President who can fulfill posting duties in case I am sick, killed, or entranced by an Elimidate marathon.

Anyway, back to the long-awaited Fashion Mad Libs results! This week I borrowed a post on Reiss skirts from everyone's favorite fashion blog, Style Bubble. I figured Susie wouldn't notice because she is currently in France covering some totally boring fashion thing (in case I threw up my writing skills: yes, I'm being sarcastic).

And so, without further ado, our sometimes creepily perfect (the adjective "blue" in a string of color descriptions?), sometimes creepily odd (fucking into Reiss and shrieking at lemurs?) Mad Libs collaboration:

I think we have established that I eat skirts but we haven't gone to the lengths of moist skirts. Now I'm a kitchen sink who doesn't often go pass the £50 mark to buy just the bottom half of my artichoke which is why once again, I find myself faced with the kangaroo of Reiss. Their set of skirts for a millisecond are once again stinky...all irregular ruffles/meerkats and curvy/voluptuous highlighters in blue, pink and yellow and elderly taupe/white. It would really make a lot more sense if I was a Louvre high-flyer who talks of Disney World and um... that sort of stuff... I could fuck into Reiss and take a bunch of the clothes and shriek down at the lemur without so much as looking at the yetis.

So as pungent as french fries are, Reiss will glamorously make me feel like I should be exchanging alligators with fellow hairs and exploding fingernail clippers about whether Presbyterians will be getting their annual pancakes.... and as I embark on new safaris in about a month's time, plonking down the prism for some sticky buys at Reiss seem even further away from the fetus.

Dead Ringer

In the past few days alone, my brother has been stopped on the street eight times by breathless fans insisting he looks exactly like Robert Downey Jr. The best one occurred on Saturday when a severely drunk man in a rainbow sequined vest stumbled up to us wheezing, "Oh...my...god! You look just like....oh man, what's his name? He had, like, a severe drug problem."

After we guessed correctly, the man explained that people always tell him he looks like Nick Nolte (he did), and he gets really offended.

Who do people say you look like? Is it a more flattering comparison than Nick Nolte?

Deep Down, We're All Mad Libbers

Finally, after many requests and many cold, lonely nights, Fashion Mad Libs is back!

In case you're new to Daddy Likey, Fashion Mad Libs is the most self-explanatory feature ever, in which I callously steal a fashion-related blurb from a respectable source, turn it into a Mad Libs, enlist the vocabulary of my readers, and voila, we're talking about albino peacocks.

If that description didn't help at all, check out the FML introductory post for more guidance. The most important things to remember are:

1. Post in order (first commenter fills in the first word; fourteenth commenter fills in fourteenth word, etc.)
2. Number your comment so other Mad Libbers can tell where we're at. Otherwise, people will get confused, start posting out of order, worldwide chaos will ensue and Pat Robertson and Al Sharpton will start doing TV commercials together (oh...wait...).
3. Have fun! (I totally agree with my junior high health teacher that every set of rules should culminate in "Have fun!" Woohoo!)

Ready? Good. Here's what I need from you lovelies:

1. Verb (Present Tense)

2. Adjective

3. Noun

4. Verb (Present Tense)

5. Noun

6. Noun

7. Time Period

8. Adjective

9. Plural Noun

10. Adjective

11. Plural Noun

12. Adjective

13. Adjective

14. Notable Place

15. Plural Noun

16. Verb (Present Tense)

17. Verb (Present Tense)

18. Noun

19. Plural Noun

20. Adjective

21. Adverb

22. Plural Noun

23. Plural Noun

24. Verb Ending in "ing"

25. Plural Noun

26. Type of Journey

27. Noun

28. Adjective

29. Noun

I'll post our collaborative Mad Libs masterpiece later tonight!

I think everyone...

...needs to enter this contest. Seriously. There may or may not be a prize, but you will win the world's respect/annoyance.

The Trouble With TOMS

My boyfriend is slowly becoming a hippie. I don't really mind--who doesn't love Joni Mitchell and recycling?--and since we're Oregonians, I knew it was bound to happen. Sure, it's a bit irksome when we're walking down the street and he cries out with the panicked passion of someone who has just seen Jesus Christ stroll out of Panera Bread, so I say, "What? What??" and he solemnly points to a piece of trash on the sidewalk and then I punch him repeatedly in the shoulder and yell, "I thought you saw Jesus at Panera Bread, damnit!" and he goes, "What are you talking about?" and OK, maybe I do mind a little, but that's beside the point.

The point, right now, is that my hippie boyfriend wants a pair of TOMS shoes. He thinks it's a great company and loves their cause of giving away shoes to kids in need. But he's run into a small problem: TOMS shoes are ugly. Like, this ugly:


I know, I know, hippies aren't supposed to care about ugly (hemp pants, anyone?), and "Own the ugly!" is practically my life motto, but these are just so...psych ward. Seriously, if I ever get fed up with his litter-induced freakouts and decide to have him committed, the state mental hospital would provide him with eerily similar footwear.

On the other hand, a girl in one of my classes last term had a large and colorful collection of TOMS and always looked supercute. They are strangely endearing, like Gary Busey.

So what do you think? Do these shoes scream "colonoscopy patient?" Do you think they're simply adorable? Would you wear shoes made of thumbtacks to help kids in need? Got any alternative suggestions for rad hippie shoes?

Five Men's Fashion First Impressions: Urgent Reader Request!

Hi Winona,
By now you've probably seen these Prada shoes before, but I've been dying to know what the five men would think of them. They may not be frightening enough, but they certainly amuse me.
Signed,
Shoes Amused



Dear Amused,

Ah, the Prada flower heels--many are perplexed by them, others love them with the fire of a thousand suns (by "others" here I mean Wendy Brandes, and Wendy, if, after reading this, you want to kick some Five Men ass, I'll happily provide you with some addresses).

I sort of want to spend my life savings on them (they're $800) just to place them in a grandiose shadowbox atop my mantle (to do: procure mantle) and force my guests stare at them in silence.
But enough about me, what do those wild and crazy guys think of them?

Brother, age 13: (Waves hands, covers face) I don't know what to think of these. Hmmm...It's just a shoe, a really bad looking shoe. The heel kind of looks like a frilly Victorian dress...a flower?

Father: I think that its the first time I have seen the bottom of a shoe be more interesting than the top of the shoe. It kinds of looks like some sort of perverted Nike or Adidas.

Brother, age 18: Who's that guy we saw at the Portland Art Museum? Chihuly ? It looks like that guy did it.

Boyfriend: It looks like somebody's heel broke off and they glued on one of their mother's fine statuettes as a replacement.

Brother, age 21: Awkward even to look at. Hate 'em. But, if they were flat without the heel I would be into them.

p.s. If you're new to Daddy Likey and/or have amnesia, you can read the Five Men's introductory post here.

Blogback Mountain

Possibly my favorite sentence ever blogged: Pulling one of these off when you're the height of a great dane is about as likely as nationalized health care.

I want Agathe's wardrobe life. She eats lunch outside and has a pet pig, for god's sake.

Tricia asks the tough question: Why do we wear what we wear?

This post incorporates my three favorite things: sandwiches. sustainability. and Todd Oldham.

Meg has a great tip for making new friends--darn tootin'!

Some douchebag called our dear Queen Marie a beaver. Or perhaps he was not a douchebag, but a perfect gentleman simply comparing her to Woodrow?

I have the best eyebrows in America--that's a fact, because one person told me two years ago. And now I may have to nominate Gala as having the best eyebrows in Australia.

Hyena In Petticoats=Awesome blog title, even awesomer blog.

Maybe this is the real reason for seasonal depression?

Don't Show-cha Your Chocha, Volume XI

During our trip to LA, my friends somehow got to talking about their favorite Daddy Likey features (OK, OK, I require my friends to talk about this at least twice a day). During this discussion I found out that Lindsay doesn't really get Inadvertently Ask Daddy Likey, Rachel and Meg love fashion-blogging animals (Meg was a zoology major, after all), and most surprisingly and/or predictably, Scott is a big fan of Don't Show-cha Your Chocha. "Whenever I see that long line of chocha pictures," he said, smiling and clapping with glee, "Aaaahhhh!!!"

For Scott, and anyone else who is clapping and saying "Aaahhhh!!!" right now, I present the latest installment of DSYC (new around these parts? wow that sounds dirty in this context, but anyway, click here for the intro):

Alexandra was innocently browsing Shopbop when she came across this tragic victim of the Great Pants Shortage of 2008:

In fifty years, this model will surely tell her grandkids about how "Back in the day, we didn't have pants or tights or leggings! We had to hold our hems down with our own hands! In the snow!"

Zoe found this awesome promo shot from Jenni Kayne's collection:

She says: The best bit of the picture I feel is the model not wearing the dress standing next to her, she reminds me of a pissed off big sister: 'god i told her not to wear anything stupid. now everyone at this party will ever associate me with the idiot who forgot her trousers. why does she ALWAYS have to show me up?'

Alana reported this sighting on Perezhilton.com:

Apparently she's 90 days pants-free.

An aptly named skirt from Kirsten:

So how perfect is this? Not only is it a major fan of the fully ventilated chochular region, it's named LOLITA!!! At what angle is the model holding her lower arm so it appears that her fingertips are skimming the hemline? I think this skirt has a pole in its future.

Tessa found a plethora of chochal danger zones:

Michael Kors thinks you should pay 700 bucks to never be able to sit down.

Yet another gem from DSYC regular, Baby Phat. Does anyone else think that "Web Exclusive!" badge could serve a better purpose about an inch to the left?

This girl's not even trying. Good god.

I guess there's one reason to spring for an oversize clutch:

Says Jessica: She's got the strategic placing of her purse down...

Anna spotted this "dress," which may be the most horrifying offender I have ever seen, mostly because (god, forgive me) it looks like the dress is actually tucked into her chocha:

Right?? You were totally thinking it... Anyway, Anna has another observation:

My favorite part is her clearly visible relief when they finally allowed the poor thing to put on some leggings for the larger pics. I had fun going 'before.. after! before...after!' to myself a few times.

Daddy Likey needs YOU! Send your Don't Show-cha Your Chocha sightings to daddylikeyblog@gmail.com

...

Due to a death in my boyfriend's family, blogging will resume on Monday.
Love love love,
Winona

Advanced Fashion Quiz

The words "double layer compression and surged edges" are used to describe which of the following products?

A. Spanx Full Body Slip

B. Car Engine

C. Missile Defense System

Nope, not telling.

Dear Purveyors of Vintage Clothing,

Next time a present-day size 10 woman (or, god forbid, 14! 16! plus size!) walks into your store, if you could refrain from sighing dramatically and giving her a cautionary lecture about how "clothes were SO much smaller back in the day, and even ten years ago women did not look like, well, that, and maybe you'd better just leave because we don't serve your kind here*," that would be great. I think a lot of self-worth could be preserved. And you might even sell her something.

Love,
Winona

*So I may be exaggerating a little, but seriously, just a little.