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

Dia Bacon

Darling ones,

You’ve been wondering what I’ve been up to…I know, I know!  I simply had to get away at once and spend some time on sabbatical from the New York party scene.  I tell you I was simply on the verge of completely falling apart at the seams if you will…(tee hee!  that’s a little sartorial joke).  Evenings of foie gras and champagne may seem glamorous, but it will certainly take it’s toll…this my dear friends, is a cautionary tale…

Quite irritato upon arriving at my little country estate. In The Great Hall, darlings. Just simply pooped from my travels!

Entertaining is no laughing matter! It is simply exhausting and country folk can be just as challenging as New Yorkers...here you can see I actually had to drink myself under the table, just to cope.

...spent some time in the foyer contemplating the existence of the American Dream, the arbitrariness of fate, the merits of the Keilbasa over the Weisswurst....

...found myself in the kitchen snacking more than I had intended...I blame it on that fresh country air. Thoughts of smoked bacon haunted my mind...

As you can see it's virtually impossible for me to get ANY privacy these days!

Waiting anxiously to be served my afternoon tea in the sun room...it really IS impossible to find good help...particularly in the country...

I'd heard wonderful things about the museum but was disappointed to find NONE of the art work had actually anything to do with Bacon. Shame! If I hadn't been trying to unwind from my grueling work life, I would have called Consumer Affairs immediately!

I took many an afternoon constitutional...this particular day I was accompanied by one of my many gentleman callers...

...the great outdoors can be so inspirational...and a wonderful place to poop in private!

....spent a great deal of time curled up in the library with a Trollope novel, trying to regain brain cells lost on New Year's eve..."The Way We Live Now" is a wonderful read and makes a fantastic doorstop once finished! I simply adore duality in purpose.

...an hour of yoga a day helps to relax tension in my odd yet gloriously shaped body...

...attempted transcendental meditation in the sitting room with White Owl but for crying out loud, it is just so stressful! I had to chase each session with a large dry gin martini, three olives.

...took to resting in the upstairs hall before dinner time...

...washing up before bedtime in the master bath....you can see how historic preservation runs in my blood. How could anyone think of getting rid of such fabulous 1940s wallpaper?

....I finally get to retire after a grueling day of attempting to relax...

And there folks, you have it…If, like me, you work too hard — you may find yourself having to take a trip to the country for relaxation and inspiration.  And as you can see from this photo journey, attempting to relax can be very stressful indeed!

Trancendentally yours,
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

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

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!

Good grief

Now, I declare, there is nothing that irritates me more than a name dropper, a social climber or a star snogger. Botheration!

But as I may have modestly mentioned before, due to my elevated sense of taste and style, I have had some opportunity to run in exclusive and elite social circles – among them, fashion, politics, art and of course Hollywood.

Bergen Street, where I work and reside, is a quaint little street with original store fronts, making the block a very desirable location for film shoots.  In fact, some time ago, my neighbors at Bergen Street Comics played host for the filming of what I’m told is a quirky and popular television comedy called Bored to Death.

As somewhat of a local celebrity myself, I had to be discreet about my entrance around the set and filming location. Entrances are key to elegance and I would never desire to distract from the filming of the actors. They are a delicate lot, and can get sensitive if they are not fawned over in the manner to which they have become accustomed.

At any rate, I happened upon the set to meet a very well known actor by the name of Sir Arrow Schwartzman (pictured below) with a lesser known, but from what I understand well respected working actor Mr. Jason Schwartzman.

Lady Bianca Miller (left) and Mr Arrow Schwartzman (right) and friends

Although I tried my darndest to enter surrepetiously, their actor friend Mr. Zach Galifinakis  was overcome by my beauty and made quite a scene, if you pardon the pun.

“Look, look at that beautiful porcelain goddess!  Such soulful eyes, no profile, and a body shaped like a perfect peanut!” I believe he said.

Needless to say, I politely sidestepped Mr Galifinakis’ advances as I had grown close to Mr. Arrow Shwartzman at this point. Since then I have found that the pressures of his fame – when combined with my own – proved too much for our emerging love and so we have parted ways.

Well, it turns out, Mr. Galifinakis went on to star in a film with a beautiful young actress (seen here wearing a daring avant-garde plastic cone headpiece) bearing a striking resemblance to me.

Lady Bianca Miller lookalike

Coincidence?  I know not and I think not.

Elegantly Yours,

Bianca Miller