Hear Ye, Hear Me

There's nothing like 20 minutes of  fairly aerobic-intensive jogging, and another 20 minutes of yoga at 7:30 in the morning to make me feel like I'm on morphine. Everything was sunshine and lollipops until I turned on my iMac and realised that the end is nigh. Dum, dum, dum.

According to Fashionista, while at Tom Ford's party in Milan, one of the spotlights crashed down on a former male model. Well, at least the former model has nothing to worry about, image-wise. 

I, on the other hand, do. I don't just see this as weeding out the dumb, as the rules of evolution dictates, but more as an ominous sign from God. 

Four posts ago, I talked about how Victoria Beckham will be launching her pseudo-collection of "Posh frocks". That was yet another tragic sign of the complete annihilation of Man. But perhaps the biggest one would be this: 

Michael Jackson launching his very own fashion line.

Evidently, his presumably understated collection, will be sold exclusively at LA boutique Kitson (yet another reason why LA will never be a fashion capital). Owner Fraser Ross says, "I think people will think it's hip to wear his line". What breed of people, Fraser?

Hearing all of this disturbing news has thoroughly depleted all the serotonin that had, at one point in the last five minutes, cursed through my body. 

More jogging, I say.

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