The Lady (Bianca) Repeller: The Turd for Shoe

My darling dearests,

As I’m sure you are well aware, I’ve been in the tabloids yet again this week!!  But WAIT.  Before you all lament my mishandling and have to retreat to the couch in despair, placing cold compresses across your brow while you limply watch honeybooboochild on repeat just to kill brain cells and numb your senses…Stop!  Because we can thank goodness gracious that this time around, the article is a simply DARLING little write up about yours truly!

The article actually exalts my innumerable merits and talents instead of slandering my good name by suggesting that I “was seen on my back under a tree at Prospect Park in the presence of a handsome Rottweiler.”  Good grief, enough with all of that nonsense!

And so moving right along, you can have a read about me here on Racked NY…a positively delightful website, clearly contributed to by a team of highly evolved beings who truly appreciate beauty, grace, style and intelligence when they see it…

Obviously, like any proper gentlewoman, I save my boa for special occasions like lying out on the front door mat, soliciting attention from passer by. Confound it! This is NOT a house of ill repute, I say.

AND since we have got on the topic of style, I want to introduce a brand new section of my little blog I like to call “The Lady (Bianca) Repeller.”  It is an homage to another, simply fantastic little site entitled The Man Repeller, which showcases things women love to wear that, for SOME unimaginable reason, repel men.

For instance…clothing items that make a perfectly attractive young woman look like she’s taken a 40 lb dump in her pants and has decided to keep walking around with it in there instead of doing away with it behind a parked car or some shrubs the way I do.

Lovely smile, but I would suggest she save the plastic bags she gets after grocery shopping instead of leaving that whole dump in the pants situation untended to. Eeee Gads!

And I suppose while we are on the (very vexing to a lady indeed!) topic of scatology, I’ve decided I should enlighten my gentlemen readers and fans with a little section that highlights a few of man’s favorite things to wear when  HE is repelling members of the opposite sex.  WHY there couldn’t be a better example to start off with than the age-old example of The Turd for Shoe.

The Turd for Shoe is an inexplicable phenomena that begins to happen (usually early in male development) when at some point, man decides — WHY put your ENTIRE foot into a shoe (this might entail actually bending down, or perhaps some movement using arm strength and/or hand mobility) when, with one swift movement, one can merely SLIP one’s foot into a large, soft, brown, structureless TURD and then proceed to walk around like that, just living life.

Exhibit A. One of the most primitive forms of the Turd for Shoe, this beauty by Birkenstock now actually pales in comparison to many of the newer fandangled Turds that have burst onto The Turd for Shoe scene.

Exhibit B: Dear Fancy Jesus! I call these ones the Steamy Turds for Shoes -- these actually have ventilation holes in them, that way if your feet get hot inside your turds (which they probably will since we've all seen a steaming turd and can assume -- by subjecting it to analytical tests and water displacement theory -- that it is hot) there are little open windows for a passing breeze to ease on through.

Exhibit C. The Ugg Turd. Don't wear these while you wave your hands in the air like you just don't care and overbite your bottom lip, because I can already tell that you care deeply. Particularly since it's pretty warm out and I see you in a short sleeved shirt. BUT wait. Is that a winter hat I see on your head? I think it is, and I think that hat may be any of the following: a beanie with stripes on it, a bomber or sherpa hat involving earflaps and/or a snowflake/ nordic animal/ pseudo ethnic pattern, or finally, a hat with ears or balls on it that is truly meant for a child. Shame!

Exhibit D. Sketchers now makes The Turd for Shoe as well, in case you wish to get fancy-pants with seaming. I like to call this particular model "The Cleveland Seamer" because of the much ado about all those superfluous seams and the extra benefit of a SIMULTANEOUSLY slightly squared AND rounded toe Turd.

And there, my friends…you have it.  While there are many, many, many more examples I could highlight in this post — of the atrocities against woman kind that The Turd for Shoe has committed — I do not like tears, particularly not my own.  And so I’ll bid you “Adieu” until next time.

Repellantly yours,

Lady 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

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

Imagine my dismay

I believe I have mentioned my dear friend Ms. Miller and her little store on Bergen Street. This is normally a charming place to spend a little time and greet the very loveliest of people in the neighborhood.

Imagine my dismay therefore when, through some oversight, my name was not on the guest list at a recent informal party held at the store, celebrating the birthday of our very own The Glorious Ms. Amanda Redmon! Alas, not only was I refused entry but the doorman, a gruff sea turtle accompanied by his crony Sir Michael Malice, was so rude I was moved to raise my paw at him as I spoke.

Attacked! Lady Bianca Miller (center) with Sir Michael Malice (right)

Unfortunately, with the whole world now having a cameraphone, this very moment was captured by My Nemesis who had the gall to post the photo on Facebook and imply the scene had become violent. The nerve.

For the record, I behaved in a manner fitting of a lady and this photograph is surely an example of how the camera can sometimes lie.

I trust that will be the end of the matter and wish not to speak of it again.

Truly,

Bianca Miller