Showing posts with label materialism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label materialism. Show all posts

1.18.2011

Tajazzle: The stupidest product ever invented.

Have you heard about Tajazzle? No? Probably not, because you're a contentious consumer who doesn't waste money on pieces of shit. But you ladies, wouldn't you like to start having complexes about more parts of your body and buying more crap to slather onto yourself in some attempt to appear attractive to the opposite sex?

Then the Tajazzle is for you. But how much is it going to cost you?


Thank god. I wasn't going to pay $200 for some junk they're selling on an infomercial. I don't even think they charge that much for a Jack LaLanne juicer.


SIXTY BUCKS?!?! Sixty bucks to acquire some talc which they expect you to put on your vagina, a fucking roll-on perfume bottle, and some pieces of plastic with glue on the back? This is no more a beauty "system" than tequila, Taco Bell and cheesecake is a system for giving you the shits.

My co-worker Kate put it best: "It just makes her look ashy."

 

"We are a totally believable couple. Yup."


THIS FUCKING GUY. Doesn't he look like he walked out of a Huge Boss ad in 1991? Nice eyebrows.


If this is an indicator of the kind of woman who owns a Tajazzle system, then obviously it's a time machine in disguise, since I don't think anyone's owned a "Princess" shirt, had spiky gelled bangs or used a cordless phone since 1999.


"Dude, she's so hot because the odor of her vagina is wafting over here. New car smell."


In what universe does this cost thirty dollars? Seth: "It's a tattoo you get out of a vending machine at a Mexican restaurant."


"Hey, are you ready to go to the beach?" "Yeah, I think so, let me see... hat, sunscreen, sarong... wait, I forgot the stupid pieces of crystal stuck to my asscheek!"


"Aw, man, I'm just at this bar, drinking appletinis and being so super masculine and I totally wouldn't go down on a girl unless her pussy smelled like Febreeze."


 I don't want to fucking know where this is going. I really don't. I can get down with some kinky shit, but I don't want anyone licking my feet. Sorry.


I am my most confident when my lady parts are drier than the Sahara! I feel great about the fact that whatever guy I decide to drag home and beg to sleep with me is going to see my stupid bullshit crystal tattoo and think I'm a fucking nut who loves Nicholas Sparks books and owns a hot pink Snuggie and has already picked out the names of the four children we're going to have together (Makayla, Jayden, Addison and Tyler!)

7.27.2010

2010's douchebag of the universe!

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about egotism and vanity. I've realized lately that I don't personally find selfishness that offensive - but only if it's self-aware selfishness. Only if it's selfishness that someone owns and is very clear about. You want to abandon your roommates in the middle of the night without having paid rent for three months? Sleep with someone for a promotion? Do it. Just admit that you're a self-centered asshole. Deep down, we're all kind of terrible, but we're not self-disparaging enough to outwardly proclaim it. Thus, I have a lot of respect for people who know they're shitheads and have no problem letting the world know.

As such, I believe narcissism under the guise of charity is a capital sin. Let me introduce you to 2010's Douchebag of the Universe.

A picture is worth a thousand words. Or twenty-five, which is about the number of words in his vocabulary.

This guy, whom I'll call the Simian, is a self-proclaimed "social media superstar," a "model" and a "promoter." Technically, he might be all of these things. He has nearly 5000 Facebook friends, a collection of photographs in various states of undress, and he hosts nights at Boston clubs. But more than anything, he is a vain, superficial, greasy, deluded moron who sells makeup on the internet and thinks he has the right to tell other people that they're ugly.

On his website, he touts the e-book of his "rise to glory" from suburban upper-middle-class friendless loser to club rat that hangs out with walking piles of hair extensions. Since I don't want to subject you to the inanity (I read it and nearly lost my lunch as well as my will to live), I'll sum it up for you: He was fat. He didn't kiss anyone until he was 17. He worked at a bank. He went on MySpace.

"This is where I made a decision. I decided I wanted it all. I wanted the girls in the pictures, I wanted the abs, I wanted the money, the cars, the flashing lights, and I wanted to be right in the middle of all of it. This is where my world got flipped upside down."

What an existential crisis! Honda Civics and glitter graphics are so inspiring! So how was he going to achieve his dream of material satisfaction?

"I figured the most logical way to get something that I really wanted was to observe and mimic the people who already had it."

Brilliant plan of attack, troglodyte. Brilliant. I mean it. He was at the very least smart enough to realize that he will never have the insight or prowess to fashion himself as a unique person. Instead, he nicknamed himself "Hollywood," (though I doubt he'd ever been there by that time), bought a lot of vests, and has landed somewhere between being a juicehead and a motivational speaker. He hawks his brand with the panache of a satisfied client on a Hair Club for Men commercial; hurling epigrams about how feeling good is looking good and taking every available opportunity to compare women to cars.

He uses his internet presence to tell everyone what he's about, which is essentially nothing. Positivity! Hot chicks and money! You're not rich because you're not working hard enough!

Still, women kiss his ass. For every banal, shallow observation about how everything he does is right and everything everyone else does is wrong, there are eight bimbos cooing about funny and wise he is. It goes without saying that these are the kind of women who are the human personifications of herpes, and are guaranteed to have fake breasts, nails, hair, tans, or all of the above. They tend to have even less substance than the men who are so desperate to fuck them.

Have you ever noticed that the people who are always about having a "positive attitude" and "achieving their dreams" are the people who have absolutely nothing under the surface? They're also the same people who don't watch the news, don't care about political issues, and claim to like all kinds of music. I guess it's really easy to be positive all the time when you spend your time not reading or attempting to contribute anything to society.

I have the consolation of knowing that in 20 years, this dipshit will be wearing Sears suits and selling used cars, but it still unnerves me that there are legions of dumb broads in America, swarming around men like him and their giant heads. It irritates the absolute shit out of me that anybody in the world thinks he's an authority on ANYTHING. But what irks me most of all is that he has the nerve to claim that he's "helping people". Here's a recent Facebook comment, full of self-deprecation and modesty:

"Do you know about the countless hours I've spent helping hopeless teenagers actually have a social life, get attention from women, change their image, have FRIENDS? Without asking for ANYTHING in return?"

Oh yes, you are an endless foundation of philanthropy! The world thanks you for your generous donation of hypocritical comments on other people's lives! You're the front-runner to win the Nobel Prize; they just made a new category for being a fucking self-absorbed worthless piece of shit! Everybody knows you're only helping your dick and your bottom line; just get over yourself.

6.10.2010

I slept with a hipster once. second worst lay of my life.

It was a very, very low point in my life. I was trying really hard to be part of that lifestyle.

Yes, I say "try" because that's all you can do. Nobody just "is" a hipster, they actually have to try to do it. They have to spend hours scouring Etsy for appropriately large non-prescription glasses, because it's totally cool to wear things you don't need. They starve themselves so they can squeeze their asses into American Apparel jeans and they save pennies so they can buy Parliaments. I know. I was a coke-addled poseur at one time, too.

I know it's hard to believe that someone who owns more than one item of clothing with tulle would identify with those people, but I wanted to. I always felt like my stupid black-streaked hair and multitude of studded belts and math rock playlists would bring me closer to that ultimate idea of cool, but it failed. It failed so hard that I became a yuppie with an anchor tattoo (so sue me).

Lately I've come to revile all the shit that screams "I have nothing better to do than drink PBR and waste my parents' money," and I was reminded of this the last time I looked at the Urban Outfitters website. I used to shop there, but now, I can't understand why people drop legitimate money on this crap.


You know what's the greatest thing about these? They're EIGHTY-EIGHT DOLLARS. If only I had remembered to save the leggings I got from my Walgreen's halloween costume three years ago.


By "I fought the law," I mean that I had to go to traffic court once, and my dad told them what a good kid I was so they continued my case without a finding for a year. (This really did happen to me. What can I say, it's easier to make fun of kids who think they're cool when you know for sure that you're not).


 I wish someone told me 15 years ago that my bedspread, my mom's jeans and the sewing skills of a fourth grader would be all I'd need to have a totally rad outfit in 2010.


I'll never understand why hipster companies are so intent on only selling their clothes to ridiculously skinny people. Fat money is good money too! Personally, I know about two women who have boobs that could actually be small enough to fit into one of these things. And they're both incredibly thin. And I hate them for it, but most of all I hate myself for hating them for it, and I hate reconciling my feminist views with my body issues, and I hate having to apologize for feeling that way. Anyway, fuck you and your stupid bralette.


 One of the words I hate more than anything is "flouncy." Flouncy implies that something is both decorative and cheerful, concepts which make me want to stab a piece of glass in my eye. Accordingly, I find these flouncy shorts extremely offensive. Not to mention ugly.


YOU CAN'T HAVE IT BOTH WAYS. Pick a shoe style, and stay there.


 This is marketed as a jacket. On what planet is this a jacket? In what universe?


Come. On.
What. The fuck. Is this.

3.11.2010

modern heart. nostalgic mind.


I bought these beauties today. I've long held a passion for vintage luggage - it is always so colorful and so much more exciting than the standard black zip-up rolling bags that are wheeled around these days. I'm hoping using luggage with a handle will also encourage me to pack lighter, as I tend to travel with five outfits for two-day trips.

More fabulous vintage finds that would make me feel so midcentury.



Unlike many people I know, I totally suck at photography. But I love the look of old cameras and would love to someday have a curio collection of them. This Kodak from 1935 is awesome.



I miss the days when phone conversations were not held in subway stations or the middle of restaurants, but when you had to sit next to a phone to use it. Conversations, I feel, were much less trivial then "Oh hey, when are you coming over? Alright bye." I suppose that's what Facebook is for, and I can't pretend I'm not at least partially addicted to my gadgets - but sometimes the idea of being less accessible is appealing, and at times like these, I wish it were 1968 and I had an aqua blue corded phone like this one.



I want antlers... Just another "rich old lady" type of thing. At least I wouldn't feel guilty about owning these, seeing as they were naturally shed.



I have wanted a motherfucking starburst clock since I was 10 and saw one on the Brady Bunch. Let's make it happen, plz.



All images courtesy of Etsy and the respective sellers.

3.20.2009

brides are f**king crazy.


Since I've started planning the wedding, I've been looking at a LOT of stuff online. It's been really helpful and the internet is responsible for my awesome self-designed wedding postcard invitations, our paper lanterns/fans, my parasol, and my DRESS! (which is still in the works).

I never realized all of the things you have to think about when it comes to a wedding - where people are going to sit, how to decorate, how to do vows & readings, music, thank you cards, etc. I've spent a lot of time looking at different sites for advice, checklists and the like.

As a result, I've come in contact with maybe the greatest site ever, and the site that maybe the signifier of the coming of the apocalypse.

Offbeat Bride is soooo bomb. They celebrate unique weddings that stray from the original rules, which is exactly what I'm going for. Their associated ning community, the Offbeat Bride Tribe, is a great community where people can share their weddings *without judgment* and get inspired by others' creativity. There's lots of DIY, lots of people with ridiculously small budgets (like my own) and lots of like-minded people who don't buy into the WIC.

The WIC, or wedding industrial complex, if you're not familiar, is otherwise known as the wedding industry and its completely fucking inane constructs. The diamond engagement ring is a product of the WIC and the invention of a female copywriter from the 1940s. A diamond is forever? Not really, only about 65 years.

Another invention of the WIC is the concept of lavish white/ivory gowns which you HAVE TO WEAR. White was only made popular by Queen Elizabeth I; prior to that, gowns were blue. Blue was actually meant to signify purity, while white was used to show wealth (ie., you could keep a white item of clothing clean). The furthest any bridal magazine will stray from white/ivory is a light champagne. If you are getting married, you will be told by society that your only option is white. Too bad for those assholes, because I'm wearing black.

But the whole idea of the WIC - spending $20,000 or more on a super-formal wedding that includes elaborate flowers, three course meals, videographers and giant fondant cakes - is crap, in my opinion. And no place is a bigger cheerleader for the capitalistic, material shitshow that is the modern wedding than theknot.com.

To be frank, the women on The Knot are evil. Okay, so maybe they're not possessed by Satan, but if you dare to speak on their community and do not have professional engagement photos, they will proceed to call you tacky and cheap and try to get you kicked off the site simply because you are not a spoiled little bitch with daddy paying for your $4000 Vera Wang gown.

I am not resentful of these women with unlimited budgets and dyed-to-match bridesmaids. I'm really not. I am happy to have a small, intimate, casual wedding. That's exactly what I want. I just don't understand why these women have to be so fucking mean to people who don't like what they like. It's like high school, all over again.

These women spend all day on The Knot's community forum, asking about whether or not they should buy chocolate fountains. These grown women make avatars of themselves in their wedding dresses and write bios about their relationships, as if anyone gives a shit. They are pretty much the most self-absorbed, bitchy, stereotypical wedding-and-baby-obsessed female products of our patriarchal, greedy society that exist. If you meet a woman and she says that she's getting married and then goes on to spend 10 minutes talking about her "colors" and whining about how her maid of honor actually has a life, RUN. Just run. These women make me embarrassed about being engaged. They don't care at all about marriage, just having their "perfect day" that they won't even remember when they're fighting over the china during the inevitable divorce.