Dear readers, does anyone have a brown paper bag
handy? Because I am hyperventilating as I sit down
to contemplate which wardrobe atrocities to write
about this week. It's been like a perfect storm of
bad fashion, and I for one am blown away. Glenn, my
cabana boy, needs to march his ass out here to the
terrace PRONTO with a double tequila and a handful
of Xanax. By the way, have any of you seen Glenn in
recent history? That guy has been slacking, I tell
you what. I think it's entirely too coincidental
that he and Miguel disappeared at the same time -
are they headed for Mexico to tie the knot or what?
Maybe they'll run into Dwayne and the Night Watchman
on a nude gay beach down there. Wouldn't surprise
me.
Let's dive right in with the fact that Victor "Will
You Still Need Me, Will You Still Knead Me, When I'm
Two Hundred and Sixty Four" Newman does not seem to be
able to remove his leather jacket when indoors and,
as I noted last week, has taken to wearing his
shirts unbuttoned so far down I can see his withered
kneecaps. That's bad enough. Why not go ahead and
start wearing a brown fedora and carrying a bullwhip
everywhere? Why not start swaggering around in
tights and a codpiece to emphasize his shriveled
gherkin? This guy is pathetic.
Meanwhile, his ex-wife Nikki "Gullible Isn't A Word
In The Dictionary?" Newman has been seen lurching
stiffly around the offices of Jabot in a dove-gray
jacket over a dress of the same shade with a
bustier-type strapless neckline - or should I say
waistline, because she's showing approximately fifty
square yards of rapidly sinking cleavage and appears
to be within a few seconds of toppling forward at
any given time, due to the sheer mass of her jugs.
Victoria "They Call Me Miss Newman Even Though I'm
Really Mrs. Hellstrom And Am On My Fourth Marriage"
Hellstrom's makeup was troweled on with a heavy
hand, and she needs to get that one wayward strand
of hair out of her right eye. Somebody mail her a
barrette, stat. She bewildered me by wearing what
appeared to be a red maternity top to work at Jabot;
it had an three-quarter-length sleeves and an Empire
waist, but then billowed out beneath her breasts,
and its high round neck had a deep slit- for what?
Ease of access while breastfeeding? Oh, whoops - she
doesn't breastfeed her forgotten preemie because she
can't stand to stay at home with the baby she longed
for lo, those many years, now that she actually has
him.
I don't know who Jamie "Bozo" Whitfield thinks she's
kidding with that Run Lola Run red hair, but I can't
think of anything worse than wearing all RED with
it! Does she have to sprint past bullpens lest she
be gored several times over by overexcited bulls?
She's supposed to be some Big Deal Hotshot Publisher
and her hair looks like a bad encounter with a
self-applied dose of L'Oreal's Feria? Probably while
drunk?
Phyllis and Sharon both continue to demonstrate
their versions of Work Appropriate attire in
knee-length cocktail dresses. On Monday, Phyllis was
in a snakeskin print halter dress cut so deeply at
the underarms that her poor chicken cutlets were
wobbling to and fro with every movement, bound up in
that flimsy fabric. Yeah, that seems reasonable to
wear to work. Sure, why not.
But the best, most horrifying outfit of the week
thus far has got to be the gauzy, frothy
lilac-colored dress made entirely out of bathtime
scrubbie-puffs worn by Sabrina "I'm Going To Be My
Best Friend's Stepmom!" Casterfate as she gasped
while receiving a diamond the size of an ice cube
from Ol' Captain Studlypants. I'm telling you, that
shit looked as if she was playing the role of the
Happy Hyacinth in some springtime second-grade dance
recital at Madame's studio. Or maybe, since she's
such an art enthusiast, she was simply trying to pay
homage to the work of Georgia O'Keefe with her
attire. Do you see the vaginal imagery in all the
delicate folds? Yeah, me neither. Sometimes a flower
is just a flower.
On a non-fashion personal note, I made a cheap
comment last week about "Wisconsin hicks". It wasn't
a good joke, it wasn't imaginative or clever, and I
apologize to anyone from my beloved home state who
felt pissed on. I grew up in Madison and have
nothing but fondness for America's Dairyland. 'Sconnies
rule! Go get your cheese hats and Bucky Badger
sweatshirts and join me in a rousing chorus of On
Wisconsin!
Editor's note: Liza is a struggling freelance writer
who gives her talent at no cost to the Genoa City
News. If you like her work and would like to
contribute to her cause, please send a donation
directly to Liza by clicking the PayPal button
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