This fashion week I failed to get passes to any of the shows I wanted to go to, but hey, that’s fine; there are loads of trendy parties during fashion week, right? I can just spend my evenings farting in a corner, eating low-cal fruit bars and nursing sticky cocktail after sticky cocktail, then go home to write about architectural pleating, or, more likely, Archchuitexytk oleeting. Hmm, turns out the reality of these parties was actually far more depressing than I predicted.
Once upon a time 125 years ago, Jaeger used to be called Dr Jaeger’s Sanitary Woollen System. Putting the word “sanitary” and “woollen” next to each other makes me think of period pads made of itchy grey school trousers so it’s a good thing they simplified because now the name makes me think of Jägermeister. Sadly there was none of the latter. Still, Jaeger made up for the lack of free shots with a neat dose of celeb spotting. Read more »
If you’re married to her you’re not so into such a slutty pile of sweaty make up but during the shitfaced years she’s about as crucial to the party as your friend calling his guy.
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This is what we call “Small Tit Pride” and when other cherry-chested ladies see it they run home to change.
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A park ranger in the Congo who survived being shot in the head at pointblank range
