Those of you who think sunglasses are only for summer are the same ones who develop early crows feet. Sunglasses provide mystery, protection, and glamour year-round. The look for Fall 2010: oversized cat eye. Think Michelle Pfeiffer in Scarface.
Remember, the look is OVERSIZED. That means your eyebrows don’t show. These red Carmen shades by Derek Lam exemplify the proper scale. 
Experiment with gold, green, tortoise, or black. This shape works in a variety of colors and textures. Werk Palermo!
Can’t go wrong with Tom Ford.
For the love of Christ, retire the Ray-Bans.
Amy Scobee, OT VII, spent 25 years in the top ranks of Scientology. In 2005, she left the church and wrote a tell-all about her experience called Scientology: Abuse at the Top, which came out earlier this year. (In an attempt to avoid the wrath of Xenu, please consider the following gossip of unconfirmed veracity.)
According to Scobee, naughty staff were sent to clean a self-descriptive place called “rats alley.” Other punishments included chipping rust off old boilers in a basement, and keeping guard outside a room where a fellow Scientologist was kept isolated because “she’d gone crazy.”
Grueling hours and ritual sleep deprivation resulted in one guy cutting his finger off with a table saw, another cutting open his leg with an angle grinder, and another woman falling off 20 foot scaffolding and shattering her pelvis. 
During her lengthy service, Scobee met all the big dawgs: Travolta, Kelly Preston, Kirstie Alley, Anne Archer, Nancy Cartwright, Priscilla and Lisa Marie Presley, Juliette Lewis, Isaac Hayes, and Jenna Elfman. Scobee said both Jenna and Tom wanted to join Sea Org. Scobee bragged she talked Jenna out of joining and advised her to pursue acting instead. Scobee got into some hot water by alleging Cruise was ineligible because of his history of recreational drug use (an allegation Cruise’s attorney denies). Apparently, LRH was very touchy about LSD.
As an antidote to all that drug use, the Scientologists sure are fond of niacin. Scobee reported she took 5000 milligrams a day for months during a “detoxification program.”
Why drop serious coin on something that goes down the drain? Body wash presents a special challenge. Most of the inexpensive products marketed towards women are drying and too perfumey. 
This Old Spice Red Zone Body Wash is surprisingly moisturizing and great for shaving. The scent it leaves behind is more Chanel No. 5 than Love’s Baby Soft. This stuff is especially fantastic if your body chemistry brings out the sweet notes in fragrances.
Plus the names are hilarious: “Swagger,” “Afterhours,” “Showtime.” I’m anxiously waiting for the newest fragrance: “Boner.” The color might be oddly electric, but the Old Spice gives good suds. 
Across the coast in NYC, Rachel’s first stop was L.A.M.B for a little pow-wow with Gwen Stefani. Zoe undulated over the clothes, but Gwen maintained her distance and even gave a little cut eye. 
Stefani modeled this dope coat. L.A.M.B. is okay except for their tendency to recapitulate the same trends: plaid, leather, zoot suit. Also, you really need to be at least 5’7″ to wear her wide leg pants or risk drowning.
After her meeting with Gwen, Rachel got a call from Naomi Campbell who requested that she pull 90-100 looks for Fashion for Relief Haiti scheduled to open Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week 72 hours later. Despite the short-notice, Rachel of course agreed – nobody says no to Mz. Campbell.
The huge project meant Brad had to hop the first flight to NYC to help Rachel throw together the benefit. Through flurries, Rachel arrived at the Haiti for Relief production offices and surveyed the pitiful clothing selection. The snowy weather caused the whole city to grind to a halt, and the samples weren’t exactly pouring in. 
Brad pled, begged, and blackberried every contact he had in the industry with virtually no results. Rachel tried to put together outfits with the meager pickings, but without accessories, shoes, or a wide variety of clothes, the looks were more Filene’s Basement than Fendi.
Brad’s frustrating lack of urgency panicked Rachel even further. Nobody wants to be at the receiving end of Naomi Campbell’s dragon fire, and Rachel should be skerred since Naomi could crack her open like crème brûlée.
Rachel complained to Brad about the lack of clothes, and in turn Brad kvetched to the others about being on Rachel’s shit list. A minion asked Brad if he’d contacted Jimmy Choo, and he responded, “Let’s do Choo!” No fucking shit dumbass. You’ve been sitting around all fucking day creasing your brow and whining about not having shoes, and it didn’t occur to you to call Jimmy Fucking Choo? Brad is officially useless.
Naomi rolled in and doled out “hellos” mistakenly calling Brad “Brian,” as he turned bright red with embarrassment and fear. Naomi surveyed the scene and immediately freaked out at the shortage. Brad tried to serve Naomi excuses, but she wasn’t having it, arguing he should have brought any problems to her attention sooner. Duck Brad!
Overnight, the news of Alexander McQueen’s untimely demise broke, and this cast a dark shadow over all of fashion week. To honor him, Naomi planned to add a small McQueen tribute to the end of the Fashion for Relief runway show.
One of the models, Ralph Plaisimond, a Haitian, was in the country during the earthquake. As he told of his experience, Rachel couldn’t cope with anything beyond the superficial, so she departed to self-soothe in the other room. Proving once again white people suck, Rachel launched into a racist diatribe claiming she’s always been “obsessed” with Haitians (like Haitians are the new must-have Chanel bag), before turning to Brad and pawing a rack bragging, “they are all Giamba…”
The next day, looks started pouring in. This was more likely a result of Naomi connections than Brad’s hustle, but either way the influx saved Brad’s ass.
On the morning of the show, Rachel hurried to order the looks and finish the fittings while Brad wandered around aimlessly, failing to take charge of the chaos backstage. Despite the general disorganization, the models managed to execute the extremely complicated task of getting dressed and walking down the runway. In the end, the show came together and was surprisingly not a total clusterfuck.
The show closed with a tribute to King McQueen where everyone choked up at the loss of a true genius. The void he left will never be filled. We love and admire you always Alexander.
While the primary palette for Fall 2010 is black and gray, pops of color, especially red, punctuate the neutral landscape.
Consider cinnamon leather cigarette pants seen here at Balmain.
Soften the bold shade by letting it bleed into white.
Little Red Riding Hood takes a trip to Maison Martin Margiela.
Steal the scene in an unapologetically crimson cocktail frock.
Floating fire at Giambattista Valli.
Alright Beckham, you wore us down.
Embrace whimsy with scarlet separates.
Kill two birds with one stone with a ruby suit.
