HOW TO REALLY SNEAK INTO FASHION WEEK
Recently a certain weekly Toronto magazine (which we love) published a fashion piece with the mouth-watering title, “How To Sneak into Fashion Week.” The idea that one could creep into a fashion event by “on-trending” yourself is cute but of course is about as on-point as an alcoholic assuming they can just walk out of the LCBO without paying for their bottle of cheap sherry. Plus, if you can afford the $400 pair of shades mentioned in the article then you better bloody well be supporting our struggling fashion industry by buying a ticket (or two).
Besides, the security guards have seen all these faux fashion sneak attacks before. You won’t be fooling any one. Instead, shake things up a bit. You’ve got one day left! Follow the Mean Gayz How To Really Sneak Into Fashion Week Guide and you’ll be guaranteed access faster than an uppity newbie blogger can say, “Gee, these free drinks are really weak.”
1) ALEXANDER WASN’T THE ONLY QUEEN. No one turns away royalty. If you’re going to be dressing your poor sad self up in labels that you know nothing about you might as well just pretend to be something else all together. Pretend you’re in-bred, blue blood, brain dead royalty.
Action Plan: Do a bit of research beforehand. Pick a ruling family that heads some small principality that no one has heard of. To achieve that “Fresh-Off-The-Throne” look go to any costume shop like Malabar. But to achieve a more “Hellio-Hellio-Don’t-Touch-Me-Hellio” glamorous state dinner look, hit up Toronto’s new king of embroidered opulence, Lucian Matis. Practice your mini wave, and never look anyone in the eye. For a more realistic look, hire some bodyguards from Craigslist.
2) EBI (EMERGENCY BOTOX INJECTOR). It’s no surprise (no eyebrows raised); “The Tox” is all over Fashion Week. A prick here, a little plumping there. Pretend to be an official Emergency Botox Injector. You never know when someone will need an emergency touch-up from their front row seat right before the Dare to Wear Show.
Action Plan: Wearing an ultra bleached, ultra starched, ultra crispy Philip Sparks shirt and ultra bleached, ultra starched, ultra tight Philip Sparks slacks enter the tents with a hard cover silver case briefcase. This is your “Tox Kit”. Stock it with realistic looking syringes. Fill the syringes with vodka, rum and tequila to drink later. Practice saying the following: “ We just got a call from 3 of our clients sitting in the front row. Their faces are slipping, fast, and it’s much brighter in there than they expected. Much. We need to get in there stat. Like yesterday. Which our clients wish it was. Actually they wish it were yester-decade. But I’m wasting time with silly jokes when this is actually a serious matter of life and lips.———- What’s that sir? You won’t let me in? I’m sorry sir, do you want to be held responsible for the social suicide of (insert name of local old celeb)’s face? Didn’t think so. Step aside. Watch my briefcase…. It’s titanium.”
3) BLIND YOUR BUSINESS. Blind people always get the right of way. Even in last season’s fashions. So not fair. So…pretend you’re blind. If nosey bitches wonder what you’re doing at a visual fashion show, say to them (while feeling up their face) that the sounds of high heels really turn you on.
Action Plan: Work those custom-made David Dixon shades (the ones that you taped a DD logo to each lens) and custom bedazzled Bustle walking stick (god bless glue guns) and stumbling your way into the tents. Bump into security guard on purpose. Cop a feel if they’re hot. Most FDCC staff won’t stop you but if they do ask to see your pass, tell them it’s around your neck. “What?!?! It’s not?!? Oh. , ma gawd!”
4) A TAPEWORM A DAY WILL KEEP THE TAPE MEASURE AWAY. Totally make security hungry by pretending to be a Tapeworm Delivery Person. It’s the fastest, cheapest way of loosing weight ever! Forever! Your job? To deliver fresh live tape worms to the models backstage and you have to get in real quick like in order to meet your “30 minutes or it’s free because they’re already dead” delivery policy.
Action Plan: Place 2 or 3 small fish into a well-sealed Chinese food takeout out container with water. Hide the fish under long strands of rancid flat egg noodles found in the dumpsters behind any Ginger restaurant. Attach a Tapeworm King nametag to your most flowy, drapey, droopy, waivey, floaty, swishy, hangy, wrappy, saggy, floppy, Ezra Constantine hooded top. Smile and jiggle the takeout container splilling a little of the water onto the security guards. Enter with bows.
5) TERMINATE-HER: You may have heard of the fashion police. Yesterday. Today, pretend you’re an elite member of Style Army. While the Fashion Police issue tickets and fines, you are authorized to kill. With a look. With a remark. With a bullet.
Action Plan: Storm the entrance outfitted in your most fashionable tactical gear, perhaps a Hoax Couture blazer accessorized with an AK 45 rifle. Practice the following in your most aggressive voice: “Please stand down, sir. My intelligence operatives inside have requested back-up. There are far too many people dressed far too pretentiously in far too small a space. In order to reduced the threat of Pretentious- Annihilation I have been specially chosen to take out at least 40% of the Optical Offensives.——-Miss, yes you with the fun fur cheetah coat. I’m going to have to start with you. Its’ time to die.”
And if all these fail, tell them you’re Robin Kay’s wrap fluffer. Bring a big brush and some smelling salts and you’re all set.
Good luck, good riddance and enjoy the drinks!
ACADEMY AWARD CUT UPS
The Academy Awards came and went. See ya bitches! The red carpet, full of gorgeous women in expensive gowns, took our imaginations to places usually only seen after too many Xanax’s. For sure they all looked good on their own, but how great would it have been if we were able to literally cut up these dresses and mush them together? Smush! Mush! Smush! Oh my god, it would be like haute couture for schizophrenics! Let’s start!
Viola Davis and Michelle Williams. Together they form Viola Williams or Violle:
Who doesn’t want to look like a frog in blender? This red and green mash-up pairs a strapless green Vera Wang gown, which features a pleated skirt detail and embroidered neckline with a red silk and organza Louis Vuitton dress with a peplum waist. Is it Christmas?
Gwyneth Paltrow and Jennifer Lopez merge to become Gwyneth Lopez or Gwyniffer:
These actresses wow in a white Tom Ford gown and dramatic floor length cape with curve-hugging, long sleeve Zuhair Murad gown. Werk!
Kirstin Wiig and Jessica Chastain get the gold as Kirstin Chastin or Kirssica:
Looking elegant in a black Alexander McQueen gown with an intricate gold overlay and a flowing chiffon train matched with a nude tulle strapless gown with woven bodice and hand pleated layered skirt by J. Mendel. Let’s melt her down and cash her in.
Tina Fey and Rooney Mara come together in bold contrast to form Tina Mara or Tiara:
Slinking about in a white Givenchy gown these stars turns heads with a plunging neckline and a black strapless custom Carolina Herrera peplum gown. Bar Code Couture!
Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie (and her leg) form, what else…Brangelina Pilie:
Combining a Tom Ford tux with an Atelier Versace dress with mega high slit, Hollywood’s power couple prove that women can indeed wear the pants and men can show a bit of leg. And he shaves!
Meryl Streep and Melissa McCarthy become the glittery Meryl McCarthy:
These big gals go bold in a gold Lanvin’s custom-made eco gown (made from eco-certified fabric sourced with help from Livia Firth’s Green Carpet Challenge) combined with a crystal-embellished Marina Rinaldi gown. Mr. Blackwell is blushing.
Remember, the next time someone asks you, “Who are you wearing?”, just start screaming.
Photomanipulation and text by Rolyn Chambers
Original photos snatched from www. intouch.com
Do you know who we are? Who are you? No, really! Last names are very important. They tell the world who you are and where you came from. Some last names are of historic importance. Some denote class and status. Some warn others of your unwant or reputation or your place or station in society. Some have the same last names as others. But this of course does not mean that they know one another, are related, or similar in any way. Having the same last name also does not mean that they would even run in the same circles or would ever even be seen in the same room with one another. We, for instance, are very particular about the last names we associate with.
Torontonians, however, have the poor unfortunate task of managing a very backward mayor by the name of Rob Ford. The other day a friend of ours mistakenly referred to this monstrosity of a human being as Tom Ford. We died. No! Actually we threw up the nicoise salad we had for lunch. And then we passed out.
“Noooooooo!” we squealed in obese agony. How could he mistake these two people? “Tom Ford is NOT Rob Ford we corrected!” The latter is an international designer who has gone on to become a celebrated director. The former is a national buffoon that somehow became mayor and has gone on to become an international joke. The two most likely have no blood connection (god we hope not), and most certainly would never attend the same events. We of course would be sharing giggles and champagne with Tommy boy. Robbie…not so much.
Above are some flyers we’ve created depicting who else Rob Ford is not. Please use them incase you get confused. Just print them out, and carry them with you. If and when you run into Rob Ford (he might run you down with his car or he may mistakenly try and eat you), simply hold up the flyers next to his face and… voila! Never be confused again!
Robbie you are so not fetch… and no…you can’t sit with us!
Jeffrey Campbell-Fully Camp
We love shoes! We know! How fully gay right?!?! Stereotypes are good…when they are in the positive. And we see nothing negative about our love of shoes. So, when we trip over a creative cobbler on our way to another awesome Turnip Eating Gala with Ivanka we feel it’s in your best interest to know about it. Listen up bitches!
It’s been a full decade now since Los Angeles raised Jeffrey Campbell began redefining and uniquely branding footwear. The company is “based around vintage inspirations, runway trending and the grind of daily life.” Though we don’t like to grind unless we are on the dance floor we do understand where they are going with this sentiment. Go to the streets, the ghettos, and the back alleys for inspiration. Well thank Saks, he’s doing it because we surely wouldn’t want to step foot in these underprivileged neighbor hoods. Imagine. Us? North of Eglington, west of Bathurst, east of Pape in Toronto? Or us, in The Bronx, Brooklyn or Queens? So thank-you, Jeffrey for doing the dirty work for us…and making it stunning.
His eye for stunning detail has allowed this brand to grow. Global like Gaga! The collections, now available in Europe, have been popping up in high concept boutiques and on the shelves of top retailers across the old continent. They are of course available in Canada. To slip on a pair right away, instead of ordering online, hotfoot it over to:
But if you do decide to checkout their website be warned. It’s a bit of a creative mess. We love it anyways because it has a very detailed blog that allows their tribe of followers to get involved in everything the company is doing. If you yearn to know what the JC family is currently reading or who they have spotted in the street looking fetch, then this site will work well for you. But if you want a catalogue of what they sell and how much they cost…well good luck with that. The semi-catalogue they do have online look like ads from a magazine shoot…for some wanna-be-edgy magazine. Sweetie, we’re already edgy. We’re gay (well it used to be edgy at one point). We just wanna see the shoes…the prices would be okay too, But as our mother used to slur into our ear every night before she passed out from having too many Coco-Puff Martinis by the pool, “If you have to ask how much it costs, you’re probably just going to steal it because you’re most likely poor.”
Sadly their poor “men’s” line however is not really worth the mention. Yet. We are hoping for (and expecting) good things to come, as this line has just been launched. All the shoes pictured above are technically women’s, but if you got the balls to pull it off fellas (like lets say, a Myles Sexton, a Gregory Gorgeous or an Adam Lambert), you’re gonna turn heads. And isn’t that what being gay is all about. Whiplash them all!
Jeffrey Campbell…you can fully sit with us. We’ll bring the polish. You bring our shoes. .
KILL THE GAYS VIDEO GAME: REDUX
A little birdie twhispered in our ears the other day. Okay, more like it shrieked all up in our face as we drove down the freeway in our convertible Hummer…before it hit the windshield. As it hurtled towards its very messy and most honorable death it shrieked this; “Guuuuurl, there’s a new online video game out called ‘Kill The Gays’. You better get on it before….” And then it smacked into our car/fashionable tank and died. Just like Regina George. In honour of Regina, we named it thusly and buried it in Mount Pleasant Cemetery. Look for its itty-bitty epitaph with the words, ‘Here Lies Regina Bird. She gave good tweets.’
After the funeral, in which we of course wore custom Tom Ford black sequined tuxes and black leather lace-up Louboutins, we began to investigate. Fer reals. A video game about killing gays? We had to know more. Google that. Find that. Ignore that. Click that. Check that. Done. Our recently manicured fingers brought us to this site:
Now at first we were a bit taken back. Not because of the name of the game or what we were asked to do in the game but because of the fashions contained within the game. In this very primitive sport, you are the straight man. Your goal is to shoot the gay men who approach you before they have sex with you. The gay men are, for some odd reason, naked. I don’t know about you fellas, but when was the last time you walked about naked? Oh, last night at the bathhouse? We see. Oh last month at Hanlan’s Point nude beach? Well, to each their own. We on the other hand prefer at least a Speedo or Skmpeez. The hunter in this game is equipped with a rifle of some sort and is dressed in Safari gear. But its clear he’s fully wearing last season.
We found humour in this game. Some may not. We believe, or choose to believe that it’s all tongue and cheek. It’s so offensive that you have to laugh at it. I mean who would want to kill the gays? We’re fabulous? If this game is meant to bring harm or defame us (we’re bigger than Jesus), then they would have named it, “Kill The Fag” or worse, “Kill The Faggots”. But they didn’t and we think there’s a reason for that. We’re already dead…like cock-sucking, blood-sucking vampires. Fully joking! Serious. The fact that the term “GAY” was used is very important. It’s like, y’know, if the game were called, “Kill The Black Man Before He Eats All Your Fried Chicken”, instead of the more mean, “Kill The Nigger Before He Steals All Our White Women.” We can say this because one of us (the Mean Gayz) is fully black. But really light skinned (thank gawd).
But we do feel the game could be improved. First, update the clothing of the straight hunter. We suggest a vintage Jean Paul Gautier. No one knows jungle like JPG. Next we suggest providing the sex-depraved gay guy with a little something. Maybe a crotch-less, ass –less leather hot shorts from Priape…in olive green (so he doesn’t stand out too much.) Or perhaps some ultra sexy Andrew Christianson Free-Ballers. This of course should then be matched up with comfy leather sandals and a visor to protect him from the harmful rays of the sun.
Now that they look a bit better we also suggest that the goal of the game be altered somewhat. Perhaps you should have the option of being the straight hunter or the gay huntee. And instead of just doing it doggy style each time, why not mix it up a bit? Missionary? Praying Mantis? Double Kangaroo Scissor Kick? The possibilities are endless.
And why always sex! Instead of raping the straight hunter, the gay huntee could maybe do his hair? Redesign his house? Or cook him a fine dinner.
Now we’re hungry. Time to get our male-maid Juan Carlos to make us some waffles. But one quick game first.
BTW, this game……can’t sit with us!
The Mean Gayz Ventilated Jock Strap Stephen Ireland Evil Devil Tattoo Doll
Oh ma gawd?!?! What is up with this guy? Ya, we know the facts. For real. So like, he’s an Irish footballer. Yum. Fer sure! He plays as an attacking midfielder (he can attack us any day—-or night) for Aston Villa. But, like, seriously. He’s so gay it’s not even funny. Not funny in that he doesn’t even realize it and still sleeps with the not-so-fairer sex. Unfair! We cry foul. Out of bounds. We want a penalty kick. We’ll use of tongues instead of our feet…and his balls will just have to substitute for a football. Actually let’s call it what it really is…a Penalty Lick.
Okay, maybe he’s not gay, but he should really consider playing for our team. We win every time. But we want more!
Yes, it’s like, so hot, to watch him rearrange his balls while he plays, but we want more. We love that he grabs others guys firm, tight asses on the football field, but we want more. We love the fact that he wears uber-gay underwear under his shorts, but we want more. Yes, he has a tattoo of two large angel wings on his back (good lord, that’s so 1990s gay its not even funny), but we want more. Yes, he does have a Chihuahua (the gayest dog ever) as a pet, but we want more. Yes, he decorated his (turkey baster?) daughter’s bedroom in bright, bright, neon pink EVERYTHING, but we want more. More. More. More…and less. Much less.
Here’s what we want. We want Stephen Ireland to play an entire game in just his jock strap…but not just any jock strap. A specially designed Mean Gayz ® Ventilated Plastic Jock Strap. Not only will he look so bitchingly fetch, but after his game he’ll still taste crispy fresh. Sorry, but unlike those guys with sweat fetishes, we like our sausage sweet smelling…. and cheese free.
Think of it. He will get so many endorsements. Jock Itch commercials. Butt-crack spray ads. Plus of course…he’ll have his own doll. Check out the one above that we designed for him. It’ll fly off the shelves….and maybe into some guys ass. We can’t control what people do with them. Who cares? As long as we get the profit. Don’t worry he’ll get a cut too. Its the perfect Christmas present. Like, for real.
So. Ireland…strap on that jock…and then you can with us.
“I know [he’s] kind of socially retarded and weird, but [he’s] my friend… so, just promise me you won’t make fun of [him].”
Well if Mayor Rob Ford was really our friend we might have said this but he’s clearly not, so please forget the above quote. Even though he is totally socially retarded. So much. To the point where Torontonians will soon be unable to overlook it and will hopefully have him committed. Or shot. They still do that right?
So, ya, okay, this week Toronto City Council voted 38 to 4 to ban the sale of shark fins in Toronto, Canada. We’re not sure what percentage that is, but whatever. The new bylaw bans the sale, possession and consumption of shark fin and carries fines up to $100,000 and goes into effect on Sept. 1, 2012.
This was a wee blow to Toronto’s Chinese community who use the fin of this hunting creature in some sort of weird soup. Like yuck. But wait, the soup can cost upwards of $100 a bowl. We like expensive things, so yay. But many sharks are only killed just for the fin and then are thrown back in the ocean without it. Left to die. Like Regina George after she was hit by that truck. So, like yuck. Its’ all kind gross and morbid. Like Janis…the lesbian.
But we think the fact that Rob Ford (and his equally overfed brother Doug) voted AGAINST the ban was ridiculous. The words that came out of his huge gaping krill filled mouth were:
“There’s all these misconceptions about what they’re doing; it’s been going on for so long. I don’t know why all of a sudden they’re making an issue. I’m not going to support the ban.”
Ya…makes sense. We think they also said the same thing of slavery. That went on for a while too. Oh, and the killing of Jews during World War 2. Ya, that went on for a couple years. Why did they stop that again? Not that sharks are people or anything, but really, that arguments holds no water. Just because we’ve always done something does not make that something right. Like, just because you’ve always been getting fatter, does not make the fact that you wish to continue getting fat okay. It’s not.
Get to the gym, eat healthier (shark fin soup doesn’t count) and most importantly, start acting like a mayor…or you can’t sit with us!
Dear Anderson Cooper,
We realize you are trying to take over where Oprah left off. You’re trying to fill her shoes, we know. But really, the girl has huge feet! You’re trying to appeal to everyday housewives in a bid to capture ratings, we know. You’re trying to be as digestible as possible so simple-minded Americans will watch, we know. What we don’t get is your clothing choices. Really, plaid shirts and ill-fitting brown pants? Really?
We’ve picked out the perfect interview-frock for you. It’s the latest Alexander McQueen gown in delicious hot pink. We know what you’re thinking, its too gala right? Maybe. We were just pulling your leg. Instead we’ve given you a real Mean Gayz Makeover. We’ve done away with your boring one colour shirts and no-character suits. Instead let us introduce you to the very affordable and oh so on point Top Shop. This outfit looks so fetch on you.
So, in the future we suggest you look a little less like a Christian missionary and gay it up a bit…or you can’t sit with us.
The Spirit of McQueen
He’s deader than Regina George. But Sarah Burton (even though she looks like an even worse version of Fergie in her fatter than fat days) has been able to, so far, channel the spirit, essence and exuberance of the late designer. The above two dresses are our two favourite from the latest collection. Of course the pink one is divine, but it is the white one that’s most fetch.
If we were an in-the-closet Republican (who isn’t right?) in need of a beard (like New Jersey rent-boy loving Mayor Chis Myers), we would of course insist that the woman on our arm be not only gorgeous like us, but that they be dressed in one of these two gowns. Together we would glide into a grand ball like magical, mystifying creatures. All talking would stop, all heads would turn, drinks would crash to the ground, mouths would open in awe, drool would form, and wives would slap their husbands. We of course would steal the hearts of everyman in the room…or at least their credit cards.
Sarah Burton, if you design something fabulous for us, like a lace and platinum cod-piece, you can definitely sit with us.