Jugs for chugs

Because apparently it's crazy underpinnings week here at The Chic Storm, this is sure to make those die-hard French lingerie-wearing mademoiselles blanch. BaronBob.com, a New Jersey-based company (quelle suprise), is selling the aptly named Wine Rack, a sports bra that can be filled with booze and comes with an extra long straw fuh drinkin'. It apparently holds 25 ounces of liquid and ups your cleavage by about two cup sizes. (Get it, cup sizes? Cuz you drink stuff outta cups? See? Uh, yeah.)

 Wine Rack bra, $29.95, BaronBob.com

The makers of this beaut think it is especially appealing to recessionistas who don't want to spend too much money on drinks at the bar but who are not willing to forgo an opportunity to get sloppy drunk, make out with a few of the classier cast members of Jersey Shore and puke on their shoes at the end of the night. And really, can you blame them?

I've certainly been guilty of stashing beers in my purse when attending an outdoor concert, because seriously, since when can indie rock lovers afford to spend $8 on a beer? (I'm talking to you, Molson Amphitheatre.) And what alfresco Shakespearean experience is complete without a mickey of vodka? But filling my bra with booze and drinking from a straw that juts out of my right boob? I dunno man. I get kind of squeamish when I see women breast feeding in public, so wouldn't this make me a hypocrite? Despite the fact that my breast would in fact be feeding me and no one else? Which somehow makes it more gross.

The way I see it, if I'm gonna be a jackass — and you can pretty much rest assured that 25 ounces of booze is gonna turn me into a jackass — I'd rather model myself after Homer Simpson and not Snooki.

Frogs and snails and puppy-dogs' tails

If I had a nickel every time I met a guy who told me he couldn't give a rat's ass what people thought about his clothes or hair, I'd have a lot of nickels right now. Like, a lot. It bears noting, however, that statement always follows my response to the "So, what do you do?" question. Evidently, there's something about a woman who works in the fashion industry that immediately makes men defensive. Or at least the ones I meet (...and subsequently date. Bleurg.) The fact that I should stop engaging with starving artists I meet in dive bars notwithstanding, I'm here to say something to all you guys who claim to be too cerebral to indulge in the superficiality that comes with a crisp shirt or a pair of wholly intact underwear: you're full of shit. And what's even worse is the guy who tells me that he doesn't care what other people think about how he looks is usually the guy who cares the most. It's all so Psych 101 that it makes me want to barf.

The good people at Dove recently launched a line of personal care products targeted to men called Men+Care. (I can only guess that the subtext they were going for is Men+Care=Dove.) Obviously, there's a whole beauty market full of guys who totally care how they look and smell. The company conducted a survey asking a random sampling of men worldwide how they felt they were represented in advertising and low and behold, they were less than impressed. "Hold the phone!" I thought. "Could it be that men are also irritated by being portrayed as dim, tubby, balding Everymen married to attractive, whip-smart women who are clearly out of their league?" Sadly, no. It turns out that guys don't appreciate being represented as rich, power-hungry ladies men. In fact, only 6% of the men surveyed believe they are realistically portrayed. I guess they showed me.  

While I applaud Dove for taking another Real Beauty approach to addressing our physical and psychological complexes, am I really meant to sympathize with the male plight here? If so, I'm going to have to play the objectified vagina card. You know, guys, it could be a lot worse than being portrayed as Don Draper in a Homer Simpson world. You could be...uh...like represented by...someone much.....mmmmmmmDonDraper.

Need I say more?