Behind Enemy Lines

It seems these days there comes a time in every successful woman’s life when scrutiny shifts away from her achievements and towards her changing outward appearance.

Never is this more true than in the case where the woman in question’s very success gives rise to envy and malice in the hearts of the less kind.

None of this is news you might say but to me it bears repeating and for this my reasons are manifold. Firstly, ignoring this sorry state of affairs is tantamount to acceptance, something I will not grant. Secondly, these days more than ever should we not be pulling together and not apart?

Ultimately however, I feel moved to share my thoughts on the subject because of the truly disturbing trend of so called cosmetic procedures undertaken by young, fabulous creatures by way of addressing this cruel and pervasive atmosphere of judgement.

I understand those in the gutterpress will have you believe it is the very youngest of the career driven of our generation who are succumbing to pressure. Poppycock, I had insisted. How ridiculous. Next they’ll have us believe the derivatives market was a good idea after all and that leggings are a right and not a privilege!

But how wrong I was. Imagine my horror when none other than yours truly became the subject of such vicious harassment.

There I was, enjoying myself at a casual get together with some friends and acquaintances when it was suggested I “do something” about the lines on my face!

Not only that but before I realized what was happening, one of the heinous fiends had the gall to reach out, grab my delicate ears and push them back to demonstrate the effect of “a little work”.

If you can pardon the brief lapse in my Swiss finishing school manners: what the f*^#^%{#*ing God forsaken f$>%#{~£* did that $>£* think she was doing?

And of course, my ever present nemesis although not present, somehow got wind of this and managed to bribe the evening’s photographer to hand over a snapshot of the incident. Last time I hire that miscreant, let me tell you.

And so all that’s left for me to do is to warn, nay beseech all the young, ambitious and stylish beauties out there who look to me for guidance and inspiration. Be true to yourselves ladies, wear your beauty and your success proudly, at any age and any stage. And don’t let the b>^*#~>£* get you down to the plastic surgeon’s office.

Yours with pride,

Bianca Miller

Heavy is the Head that Wears the Crown

Dearest friends and loyal fans,

Admittedly, it has been quite sometime since you have heard from me.  Although I feel in no way obligated to, as a lady of clout and social stature, I find it prudent to recap an abridged version of my activities — my comings and goings since I left you last.  This is not an excuse — but merely an explanation for my extended sabatical from blogging.

As I have lamented before, life can be such a struggle for a lady of my position!  It is not all coming up roses and little pieces of cut up sausage for Lady Bianca Miller.  Behind the veneer of glamourous parties, fabulous events, and sordid love affairs — there is a dark side my friends, a dark side.

And because so much time has passed since I have shared with you in this forum, I shall edit fiercely and attempt to catch you up to date swiftly.  I left you last sometime just before Fashion week.  As you can imagine, I get dozens of invitations from people desiring me to attend their event, show or party even for a few moments!  And while I can’t accept them all, I am higlighting a few of many of the events I lent my fame to that week:

Here, front row at the Zac Posen show, I snapped a photo of my old pal Sessilee Lopez. Of course I was asked to walk the show but due to a strained paw, I was unable to accept the kind offer. I imagine it was somewhat for the best as I tend to overshadow the rest of the girls, and it is a good show of generosity of spirit to give others their time to shine.

Later, backstage, I caught up with my good friend Anna Wintour (you can see her pictured here seated front row, catty-corner from me). Of course we were originally supposed to sit next to each other so I could lend an ear to her sometimes tedious inquisitions into my aesthetic interpretations of the sartorial floor show, but there was a mix up in the seating arrangements and I, not wanting to cause a stir, decided to do the graceful thing and yield to any deliberation on the matter.

After attending countless other fashion shows that week, I found it proper to take my adoring staff to happy hour at Maison Premiere where they offer all varieties of superior bivalve molluscs, all at $1 a peice!  Imagine!  Naturally, we had to give them all a go:

The stunning ladies of Eponymy, Amanda and Claire, ready to indulge in celebration of Eponymy's 3rd birthday. Dry Kir Royales and oysters? Yes please!

Though curvy in the right areas, I am also blessed with a speedy metabolism and so I do fully enjoy the luxuries of partaking in a second course at none other than Fette Sau.

Of course we found it only proper to end the evening with a Miller High Life toast to Eponymy, MHL being our eponymous beverage.

In addition to our private celebration, I decided it would be kind to support the industry and allow others celebrate the 3rd birthday of my little shop, Eponymy, by throwing a small soiree:

Here I am at my little shop, Eponymy, with my dear friend who occasionally helps me get things together. Generally, she can be a bit lazy about things you know. It is just so difficult to find good help these days!

I was able to secure my friend Stephane Wrembel to play the party:

Stephane has composed and performed the soundtracks to Woody Allen's "Midnight in Paris" and "Vicky Christina Barcelona" among other achievements. It was a glorious evening of lovely Gypsy Jazz. I say, I do know how to throw a party!

There is a possibility that while rehashing old glory days with my dear artist friend Thomas Brown, who has sculpted my likeness (I am somewhat of a muse to him), I may have consumed one too many Miller High Life beverages.

The lovely Emma Hoette who is both an accomplished modern dancer and costume designer, was also enjoying drinks from our favorite neighborhood bar, Weatherup! Unfortunately, I may have also represented in an entirely different way by perhaps slightly overindulging on the delicious cocktail selection they offered.

Of course, what really put me over the top was when the rock and roll crowd came tearing through the gathering.  One of my absolute dearest friends in the world and talented singer and muse, Lisa Ronson, daughter of the late, legendary Bowie guitarist, Mick Ronson showed up (late of course).  You know how those rock and roll characters can be!  Well one moment I’m innocently sipping camomile tea in a quiet corner and the next moment I’m drinking straight from a bottle of Jack and breaking musical intruments over senior citizen’s heads!

Here is Miss Ronson looking uncharacteristically demure in the presence of uber design, branding and merchandising stylist extraordinaire Alan Rohwer.

Well, it wasn’t just wild child Ronson’s doing.  Soon enough my friends and neighbors Ian Hultquist and Sofia Degli Alessandri of Passion Pit and Aislyn joined us and I soon began to enter a dark territory I believe I have heard many rock and rollers call “shit-can-drunk.”

Captured here in an inordinately modest and reserved moment, as soon as the cameras were off, Ian and Sophia started ripping the heads off small animals with their (lovely) teeth!

Well I kept up appearances and socialized for as long as I could...

...but I am afraid towards the end of the evening I had to retire somewhat earlier than anticipated...

...and naturally exhausted from several long weeks of festivities, I had to be escorted upstairs to my more comfortable residential abode...

Single?  CALL ME.  718-789-0301.

That my friends, is when the evening took a disastrous turn towards the devastatingly scandalous. Somehow, delirious and still tipsy from the evening, I wound up in the bath with an on again/off again romantic interest of mine. I can only assume that whilst passing through, he saw the necklace around my neck (by Diament Designs) reading "Available" and assumed that I was interested in rekindling our relationship.

...and of course the next morning....

...amongst all the kerfuffle...My Nemesis arrived on the scene to catch me in an amorous embrace with my gentleman suitor, Meatball.

I will tell you one thing.  Meatball was a perfect gentleman, even bringing me a breakfast in bed of chili cheese and bacon hot dogs, crispy pork sandwich and bratwurst with bacon braised sauerkraut from his splendid little restaurant Bark Hot Dogs.

But I am afraid, however, as glamourous as all of this sounds, I awoke the next day in a first class seat to Palm Springs, Florida where I escaped for several intensive days of detoxification, yoga and spa so I could get my head on straight for crying out loud!

I find the sun salutations so grounding in this crazy, crazy world we live in.

Oh, the pressures of fame!  I’ll tell you, friends, New Yorkians and countrymen, it’s certainly not all it’s cracked up to be!

And that, my friends, although an abridged version, should catch you up to date on my activities over the past few.  Pity me?  Gracious no!  I am a strong woman of substance and persistance and I shall laugh wholeheartedly and maybe even cough up an undesirable piece of phlegm (it is cold season now) in the cruel face of adversity.

With much due respect to my faithful fans,

Bianca Miller

A Wilde Imagination

Greetings darlings,

I am an aesthetic individual by birth, a classicist by nature — famous for my shrewd wit and sartorial flamboyance — why, one might almost confuse me with the great Oscar Wilde himself!

Though many of my unpublished novels have been inspired by, and generally aligned with, Mr. Wilde’s ideology, there is one famous position of his that I must refute.  In his essay “The Decay of Man,” Señor Wilde asserts: “Life imitates Art far more than Art imitates Life.”

Well, my fine friends, I beg to differ.  Tee he!  Just couldn’t help myself with that one!  Just awful, I know…I know…but also somehow SO pleasurable at the same time!  Right?  Right!?

Oh, I digress.  Without further ado about nothing, I shall unfold empirical evidence gathered while gardening on the internet, which proves that the chicken did come before the egg!

Please refer to exhibit A, one of my prior blog posts.  If you have read it, please review paying particular attention to the section on the sculpture in front of the New York Palace.  If you have not yet read it, how do you expect us to be friends?

Moving forward:

Exhibit B. Ahem.

Exhibit C. Although the genus depicted is not French, he is a second cousin once removed, named after our uncle, Skittlefoot.

Exhibit D. Jedi evidence.

Exhibt E. Even frat boys know. For the record, I did nothing disgraceful at this house party. How could I have known that Rabbit was married to the hostess! Ooof.

Exhibit F. Utterly stunning ring by Verameat Jewelry found at my little shop, Eponymy.

Exhibit G. I'm no snitch, but I simply can't help point out the similarities here!

Exhibit H. A party thrown in my honor, complete with an ice sculpture by the illustrious Thomas Brown and gorgeous "Bianca" statues in background.

Exhibit I. This piece of evidence is somewhat more confusing for the layperson scientist. I'll say no more on that note about my superstring theories, and let my audience research on their own.

Exhibit J. And Gargoyles are French too! Bonjour!

Exhibit K: "Opus Manatee." Just sayin'.

Exhibit L. Hippoponymous.

Exhibit M. Ugly Doll? What a simply GHASTLY name. I entirely disagree. Single? Contact me.

Exhibit N. The Netherland Dwarf Bunny; story of a Fierce, Bad-ass Rabbit.

Exhibit O. We come in peace.

Exhibit P. The Long Eared Jerboa. Another bizarre biological imitation.

Exhibit Q. The nugget. My influence seeping into the culinary scene.

Exhibit R. Many have drawn comparisons noting the piglet. I must say, an absolutely lovely creature, but sometimes just such a boar. Ooooooo.

Exhibit S. The Japanese have always had a knack for beautiful design.

Exhibit T. Even across the globe, the Koala has followed my grooming techniques closely.

Exhibit U. Big Marshmallow. Another clear example of my translucent skin and voluptuous figure inspiring the gourmand.

Exhibit V. The baby sloth looks very closely related but unlike me these creatures are extraordinarily lazy. Why that 20 hour research nap I took the other day followed an exceptional day of rigorous jazzercise!

Exhibit W. Mini-nugget friends.

Exhibit X. Cousin Fred.

Exhibit Y. My gorgeous postmodernist coat. Why, the Empress has no clothes! Te he!

Exhibit Z. I taught my neighbor to be so fierce, though I couldn't help pointing out the egregious color and pattern on his jumper.

And there you have it my friends.  In art, as in nature, one simply CANNOT deny the brawn of a powerful live muse.  And while I would never… never insinuate that this muse was myself, I encourage you to do so.

With Wilde abandon…eminently yours,

Bianca Miller

Walk of Fame

Greetings darling ones,

As many of you probably know entirely too well…it is just SO difficult to find good help these days!  Egads!

Particularly when one finds oneself inexorably thrust into the public spotlight as often as yours truly, one needs to be able to rely on fine gentlemen of the ample and lofty persuasion.  This little post is dedicated to my squires of the night, the men who protect and serve me.  My, ehem, watchdogs.

Daniel and Dominique, the finest personal security detail this side of the Gowanus Canal, coming to my rescue one Friday evening when I became absolutely overwhelmed by enamored fans and bothersome Paparazzi.

Antoine calls on Sir Michael for back up one exceedingly perturbing evening when I was bombarded by a pack of wild and worshiping fans.

It was rumoured I particpated in an affair of an unsavory nature with squire Dominique but that of course is rubbish! Pure rubbish I say!

And that, my friends, is a tiny window into the life of a true Star.  It’s not always as glamorous as it’s cracked up to be. Goodness gracious me.

Mindfully yours,

Bianca Miller

Bartender is the Night

Hello my pretties.

Isn’t it lovely when two of your favorite things arrive in one package?

If, like me, you find this heat to be reaching your upper threshold of comfort, may I suggest it be taken as a cue to catch up on some much needed reflection. Although the white color of my coat is perfect for bouncing back the sun’s harshest rays, I do find myself crossing the line from glowing to perspiring if I attempt any physical activity while wearing fur. Therefore I like to spend my city time in July indoors, ideally with a refreshing cordial of some kind. Nothing quite calms the senses like an expertly served Pimms I always say! Which brings me to the first of my favorite things: Brooklyn bartenders.

Having been in the privileged position of residing in this fine borough since my social debut, I have come to know and frequent some truly fabulous watering holes. Inevitably, my discerning eye has been drawn to those barkeeps whose deportment and repartee never fail to delight. I have found that my very favorites tend to share certain traits which I will, in turn, share with you.

My ideal bartender is a snappy dresser with a monosyllabic name like Paul, John or Floyd. They will be neither aloof nor overbearing but rather will, on occasion, share exotic tales from southern states. They will read interesting books and keep their money not in the bank but in gold. In times of great distress they will even encourage you to order your drink by specifying a liquor and an adjective. Indeed one of the most life affirming beverages I have ever tasted was presented to me in response to the description of ‘bourbon’ and ‘forlorn’. To further salve my soul this was accompanied by a touching description of Degas’ The Absinthe Drinker, which fit my mood perfectly.

The second of my favorite things is of course a man with a heart. Nothing in this world warms my soul in quite the same way. And so it is that when I first heard of The Barman’s Fund I was filled with a delicious cocktail of sensations, capturing everything from lust to pride to altruistic bliss – and back to lust again. In their own words their mission is simple,  ‘a bunch of bartenders take every penny they make on the first shift of the month and pool it, and then give it to various charities (Figuring that most community charities would much rather have 6 hrs of tips than 6 hrs of us washing dishes).’ This, I found myself thinking, is surely one of the most enjoyable ways to multitask, spending social and charitable time at once.

A glorious specimen of manhood, our dear friend John (he graces the bar at both the Vanderbilt and Weatherup) of The Barman's Fund braves the lines of target to buy diapers for nearby CHIPS maternity shelter.

I’m also happy to say the man behind the fund is an old friend, Floyd. I have a great deal of lovely things to say about him but fear I would make him blush. So I will leave it to you to see for yourselves – if you find yourself in Prospect Heights he’ll be the dapper gentleman behind the bar at The Vanderbilt.

Stopped by for a summer afternoon of bar therapy with Sir Floyd and a thumble full of Eponymy's eponymous Miller High Life.

Charitably yours,

Bianca Miller

The Gilded Age of Slander

I am sure by now you are well aware that I’ve had some ongoing, gratuitous and frankly appalling issues with the media.  If you read my previous entry regarding the numerous venomous articles painting me as a carouser a, party girl, even a floozy, then you’ll understand the history here. Why for heaven’s sake!  Egregious, just egregious these accusations!

Of course as a socialite, a philanthropist and a popular member of this fine city’s inner elite circles, I happen to have many admirers!  Being a gracious hostess and an expert on social propriety, I have found myself generously lending my presence to a variety of suitors, associates and gentlemen callers.  This is solely out of duty, out of politeness and out of manners.  Unavoidably, photographs surfaced taken by My Nemesis and the press that were edited out of context and assembled in a way which presented me as a woman of ill repute!  One can’t imagine my despair!  How simply awful!

While dining at a business associate's home, I ate some bad shellfish and had the worst bout of food poisoning! He was merely comforting me and checking my vitals to make sure I was metabolizing adequately!

My dear friend and I had merely fallen asleep after taking a grueling spinning class and My Nemesis caught us in this completely misrepresented position which makes it appear as if there was some type of hanky-panky going on! Good gracious no!

After working my paws to the bone in the shop for ONE whole hour straight, of course became absolutely exhausticated! It's no wonder!

Admittedly, I was showing interest in my former actor flame, Arrow Shwartzman. But as I mentioned before, the pressure of our combined fame proved too steep of an obstacle to maintain the relationship.

While out for after-work drinks I excused myself from the table to go to the powder room when My Nemesis caught a quick photo of me in an awkward moment with a gentleman acquaintance ! Alas!

Even when disguised, the paparazzi seems to somehow recognize me and capture incriminating photographs of me with persons of the gentleman persuasion.

Here I am pictured on a lunch date with one of my gentleman callers, Meatball. Meatball owns the popular restaurant, Bark Hot Dogs down the block. Rumors swirled that I was opportunistically forming a relationship with Meatball based on my love of hot dogs but that is of course patently ridiculous! I was drawn to dear Meatball for his strong masculine physique, his under-bite and snaggle-tooth, and his vague resemblance to a cod fish. Sweet tender affection!

I had been slaving over a hot stove all day when I just absolutely collapsed! My gentleman friend just happened to be there to break my fall!

Here I was merely showing one of my suitors, Zeus, the finest new merchandise that had arrived at my store. It was completely innocent! Really!

I had been overseeing a huge in store event and I absolutely collapsed by the end of the night!

Again, in a disgusting invasion of privacy, My Nemesis captured a nap-time photo and distributed it to the international tabloids.

Here I was reminiscing with some old friends from my favorite music venue, Southpaw, when a member of the press captured me in an awkward moment which appears to be a passionate embrace. Good lord!

Here I was captured during a high-fashion photo shoot with my dear friend who owns a precious little coffee shop on Classon Avenue in Brooklyn called Glass Shop. I had something in my eye and he was simply trying to help me get it out! There was nothing unsavory about our interaction whatsoever!

While strolling in my neighborhood I was bombarded by a pack of gentleman fans, asking for my autograph and wanting to ask me about my latest projects! I was positively overwhelmed but of course I obliged, not wanting to hurt anyone's feelings.

So, my dear friends, as I have time and again proven, the camera can absolutely lie.  As a lady of grace, charm and generosity, sometimes my kind nature can be taken advantage of by the camera and manipulated in a way to paint me as a…hussy.  I am just beside myself!  It is all  highly  distressing and worrisome, but I count on my fans like you to renounce these lies and follow your senses in being assured that I am a pious woman of substance and virtue.

Anxiously yours,

Bianca Miller

Minimalist Chic for a Lady of Strength

It is difficult not to have caught wind through the media’s constant references (“Madame Beanut,” “Lady Bianca Manatee,” “Burrito Miller,” “Sausage Shaped Goddess,” “Nugget of Love”, etc.) that  my curvaceous figure has become quite the subject of interest and fascination both here in New York and internationally.

Whether one is singularly admiring my lean muscle tone, my soft curves, or my delicate bone structure, it is really both the sum of those three parts, and the capacity of the sartorial element to compliment and enhance my lady figure — that packs the biggest punch in the end.  Mark Twain once said, “Clothes make the man; Naked people have little or no influence on society.”

Well, Mr. Twain died some years ago, but luckily we have Zac Posen to remind us how clothing should fit a lady and enhance her best features.  His new line, Z Spoke, focuses on expertly cut feminine dresses at reasonable prices.  Just darling, I say!  Sir Posen describes “Z Spoke” as a line for the strong-willed business woman who transforms into an elegant, downtown creature at night.  Well for goodness sake, there couldn’t be a more suitable description for yours truly!  I’m almost convinced Mr. Posen is speaking directly about me!

Photo of me in my little shop, Eponymy, taken by Erika Larsen for Inc Magazine. Notice my curvaceous hips in perfect harmony with the intricate tone of my abdominal muscles. Exactly the type of attributes showcased by Zac Posen's Z Spoke line.

At any rate, several Z Spoke styles are now available at Eponymy, my little store on Bergen Street in Brooklyn!  Below are a few of them, though I have to say the photos do not do these dresses justice and I would wholeheartedly recommend dropping in to see how one of these lovelies looks and feels on!

Cotton Jersey Backless Dress

Stretch Core Suiting Flare Dress

Stretch Core Suiting Pencil Skirt

Until we meet again.  Stylishly yours,

Bianca Miller

Bianca Miller High Life

As many of my closest friends know from experience, being a public figure in New York City has its advantages and disadvantages. In fame, as in life, you have to take the créme bruleé with the reduced fat non dairy cream cheese, so to speak.

Far be it from me to complain but I feel I must also make a stand to protect my privacy, my stature and indeed my hard-earned reputation as a lady of style, grace, humor and modesty.

I am referring, of course, to the sustained, unjustified and frankly disturbing nature of the sullying of my name carried out by the person I refer to, for legal reasons, only as My Nemesis.

While answering a run of the mill question on modern dining etiquette by a delightful visitor to our store, I was discussing the relative suitability of various summer drink options available to the fashionable girl about town. Having recommended some fine wines (I have been VERY keen on Grüner Veltliner lately) available from our friends at Sip, I went on to describe those drinks which were to be avoided at all costs; appletinis, anything endorsed by a rapper, beverages with bright colors not found in nature, and any beer that is not Eponymy’s eponymous beer: (Bianca) Miller High Life of course — “The Champagne of Beers.”

Now there is a time to drink, and a time for business.  Sometimes they intermingle, often they don’t.  In order to fully demonstrate the ungainly figure cut by a lady with a beverage at an unsuitable time of day, I kindly offered to pose beside a glass of beer during business hours. Naturally, this was solely for the purposes of instructing an eager student.

In a heinous act of malice and misrepresentation, this very moment was captured by My Nemesis and subsequently distributed to various gossip columnists around the city as a shameful attempt to paint me as a fallen woman.

Bianca Miller High Life

Of course, not such a long time later, while socializing with business associates at one of my local spots, The Flatbush Farm, the press showed up to document my whereabouts and captured me in several compromising angles making it appear as if I am overly enthusiastic and concerned about social lubrication.

I was merely chuckling at a preposterous comment my dear friend made regarding the paradox of the human condition!

Here I was simply grinning regarding a series of simply hil-ar-ious military-industrial complex knock-knock jokes told by my favorite bartender.

So you can see, as a socialite and philanthropist I simply must make public appearances and rub elbows with the elite.  But you can also ascertain how an innocent appearance can be turned into a false portrait of debauchery.  I’m just beside myself!

Just a year ago, you can take note of another photo captured by My Nemesis during a party beneifiting the arts.

See here, my gentleman friend slipped and I ended up falling into the beer. It was an absolutely frightening experience!

THEN — and this is an extreme example of privacy violation, I was holidaying at my darling country home in Guilford, Connecticut, relaxing by the pool with an afternoon beer, when I was bombarded by those awful paparazzi!  Now Guilford is a beautiful, relatively unscathed town that has not yet fallen victim to the precious, overly manicured towns of the more populated areas of Fairfield County.  How on Earth did they locate me there!

If one can't enjoy an afternoon beer at one's country home in peace for crying out loud, what on Earth is the world coming to!

And so it falls to me to firmly deny any wrongdoing and leave it to my trust in you, my dear friends, to judge who is wrong and who is sorely in need of litigation.

Yours indignantly,

Bianca Miller

Art Tour Extraordinaire: Part II

Our little art tour was starting to feel like a bit of a roller coaster ride.  Up, with the elation of seeing my own image gracefully interpreted in a phenomenal display of the largest proportions — down with the anxiety of the plump, formless, pedestrian bear installation.  Eee gads!  I felt it timely to ride easy and drop into the La Chapelle show at Lever House  for some Pop-Art numbing.  The show went round and round like a merry-go-round,  awakening memories of childhood with its paper link chains.

It was then that I truly scrutinized the existence of the American Dream.

The tour was cut short when Vladimir noticed I was growing weary — after all, I had barely slept 18 hours the night before!  Having such a packed schedule can be positively exhausting!  So until next time…

Artfully yours,

Bianca Miller

P.S.

I was walking on Dean Street in Brooklyn today and came across this absolutely dreamy yard sculpture.  I feel the ambient lighting accentuates my perfect cheekbones.

BARK AT THE MOON

Art Tour Extraordinaire: Part I

Now, I believe I’ve already mentioned my involvement in numerous social circles in our fine city. However I have yet to touch on my keen interest and pivotal role in the art world.  Indeed I have dear friends at Humble Arts Foundation, where I sit on the board and at  mr. and mrs. amaniolu – the curator of the wonderful collection for sale at my little store Eponymy.

As a patron, trendsetter, dealer and muse, naturally I am constantly being invited to gallery openings and events. What with my other commitments it’s frankly impossible to even attend a fraction of them. Exhaustication! That said, much as I enjoy hobbnobbing with a glass of wine and eavesdropping on conversations regarding false pretensions of metaphysical idealism, I also like to take it to the street and assess the more accessible delicacies of the art world.

Therefore, when I was asked to take a mini tour of some recent public art in Manhattan,  I decided to make time in my positively overloaded schedule to lend a skillful eye to the masses.

Driver! Take me to the venue!

I was picked up on Saturday morning by my driver Vladimir, a rather pleasantly plump fellow (notwithstanding the Russian prison tattoos on his hands and the gun shot wound in the side of his head). Our dear friend Alan Rohwer was in tow with my iced cappuccino, which was a blessing as I was absolutely parched. The scale of Alan’s artistic genius and talent is virtually insurmountable (why he nearly holds a candle to my achievements!) so naturally it was favorable to have him along for the ride.

Our first stop, The Helmsley Palace (these days known as The New York Palace), featured an exhibition in my honor. How spectacular the sculpture, and how kind it was of the guards to escort me down the red carpet to the base of the sculpture where I was photographed for what seemed like an honest to god eternity by those pesky paparazzi. Good lord. But one must oblige sometimes I suppose, especially when homage is shown on such a grand scale.

The sculpture itself, crafted by Julien Marienetti,  showed such attention to scale, such precise acknowledgement of my bone structure, my luxurious curves, the indent in the middle of my frontal lobe, the delicate folds in my face and neck – all diametrically opposed with the angular modern lines of the painted surfaces and vibrant colors. Gracious me! Pure Heavenly Goodness!

Take a look here, for a small style tip.  I decided to don a low-maintenance sporty outfit that day a lá Katherine Hepburn.  It is quite grotesque to look ostentatious at an event in one’s own honor:

Thank you kind city of New York! Thank you!

Once my appearance was made, we were on our way.  Vladimir suggested another location – a spot on Park Avenue boasting Swiss artist Urs Fischer’s 20 ton brass teddy bear.  While I don’t expect the subject matter of every public art work to reflect my grace and delicate facial structure, I have to say the lines did not please me aesthetically at all. Shame!

Botheration!