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Showing posts with label Globe Tabloid. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Globe Tabloid. Show all posts

Thursday, November 6, 2008

Mr. Blackwell...blogger calls me the new High Priest of fashion?


A blogger greatly flattered me today - when he posted a comment on one of my features - and proceeded to speculate that I was the new Mr. Blackwell!

The post - Fashion Faux Pas - provided tips on "Dressing Right".

The piece was lifted from one of my fashion columns from the daily newspaper - The Province (Southam News) - which I penned before I moved to California.

When the celebrated High Priest of good taste passed away to spirit recently - I intended to write up a career profile, but a flurry of activities and a hectic time schedule prevented me from carrying out the task - 'til now.

Actually, I met Mr. Blackwell at a printing outlet a few years ago, and found the man to be pleasant and outgoing.

Fortunately, he didn't level his pen at me that day!

Of course, Blackwell was infamous for his caustic wit - and one or two-line quips about celebs and their fashion choices - as they schlepped about to-and-fro in the scintillating backdrop known as Tinsel Town.

The Dixie Chicks inspired him to quip with a smirk:

"They look like a trio of truck stop fashion tragedies trapped in a typhoon."


His subjects ran the gamut - from Martha Stewart to Cher - and the "Queen" herself.

To his keen eye, Stewart was "dull, dowdy and devastatingly dreary".


Cher?
"A million beads and and one overexposed derriere".








But, he was undoubtedly at his wicked best when he posed a question on the Queen's lack of apparent fashion taste.

"Was she the palace Christmas tree, or just a royal clown?”

His beginnings were humble.

For starters, Blackwell was born into the world under the unassuming name, Richard Sylvan Selzer.

The playground for his fantasies were grounded in the Besonhurst section of Brooklyn - and a far cry from the hallowed halls of high fashion - he would comfortably inhabit years later.

The fashion maven was of Jewish decent and grew up in a shabby tenement house.

In spite of the fact he only had a third grade education, he managed to rise up - and likewise - eventually float with ease through socially-elite circles where the idle rich played.

When the man known for his fashion flair began to form a fashion house featuring his original designs - like many in the field before him - he chose a suitable name for the occasion.

Mr. Blackwell was born.

To some, he was an important designer; to others - mediocre at best.

Blackwell was a great promoter, though - and maneuvered a handful of fashion coups early in his career - in spite of the creative handicap.

For instance, Blackwell was the first designer in history to present a line on a television broadcast - and also at the head of the line - when it came time to promote an affordable line of sensible clothing for plumpish women.

Undoubtedly, he was one of the first major fashion whirlwinds to command staggering prices for his creations which - on occasion - sold in the $800 to $1,000 range successfully.

Blackwell counted Yvonne DeCarlo, Jayne Mansfield, Dorothy Lamour, Jane Russell - and even red-dressed first lady Nancy Reagan - as loyal clients who touted his designs on the world stage.

Although he made fashion sense for the most part, there were occasions when he literally goofed!

A barb about Women's Wear Daily Publisher, John Fairchild, was probably one of the few jibes he'd like to recall after its impact was felt.

No doubt, it was a costly mistake to attack a major player in the industry on the publishing-promotion end.

Changing trends, and forward-thinking in fashion, squelched his high-fashion lines. After all, Americans were now heading into casual wear environs with a vengeance.

In what was a sort-of fluke, an industry-insider called him up one day and asked him to write an article on the 10 Best and Worst Dressed in the Nation.

The gimmick stuck.

However, it was the "Worst dressed list" which catapulted him into fame, though.

Witty, clever - and inclined towards a naughty turn-of-the-phrase - Blackwell's one-line quips about star "style" - or the lack thereof - ended up elevated him into untouchable status in the fashion stratosphere.

Oftentimes, his sly pokes not only put the spotlight on a flailing career, but helped jump-start it.

Maybe, that's why there weren't any vicious attacks back.

A case of - "wink wink" - eh?


Beyond the pale, there were also fashion pieces written in serious relevant tones.

Blackwell was syndicated in The Globe tabloid, for instance, and often wrote features which appeared in mainstream newspapers and lifestyle magazines that enjoyed widespread far-reaching appeal.

Blackwell lived in Hancock Park with his partner of 60 years.

In addition to his fashion empire, the man with the keen wit, was also an artist known for avant-garde renderings; in fact, several editions of his work were distributed, including a ever-popular "Mother America" series.

Mr. Blackwell suffered from Bell's palsy which causes limited to severe paralysis of facial muscles which often affects the eyesight as well.

In spite of the affliction, Blackwell often remained optimistic about life, until his death in Los Angeles on October 19 (2008) from an intestinal infection.

Thursday, February 14, 2008

Hillary Clinton...to divorce Bill; and funnyman Tony Randall was a stud!



As I stopped into a local fast food joint, a bold headline screamed out at me from the front pages of a tabloid newspaper a fellow patron left behind on the counter,

Clinton Secret Divorce Deal!

Gee, it was such tantalizing stuff, that I found myself gobbling down the titillating gossip whole as I munched on my breakfast sandwich over coffee.

According to insiders, Hillary Clinton and her philandering husband (their words, not mine) have a secret divorce pact that will end the marriage of 32 years if her historic bid for the White House ends in tears.

Golly!

"She needs the image of a healthy marriage, but it's all a sham. This marriage is made in political heaven, nothing more. Their romance ended years ago," an insider boldly confided to the tattle mongers at the Globe.

Their public display of a harmonious marriage is all a sham, others alleged elsewhere in the wild yarn.

In fact, it was claimed in various quarters - according to the weekly rag - that bitter behind-the-scenes fighting between the two has already threatened to derail Hillary's campaign.

Must be an old issue of the Globe, didn't her campaign go topsy-turvy this past week?

In sum, the "reliable" sources lamented that Hillary was furious with Wild Bill for being less-than-slick recently - what with his take-no-prisoners campaign style, in particular - which drew strident criticisms from even long-time supporters.

Close friends in the inner circle appear to have their knives out, too.

One source swore that,

"She kept him around for his political expertise, but now that seems to be working against her. In the end, she has to ask, "What good is he?"

Not even worth a romp in the hay, you say?

Folks allegedly "in-the-know" chirp, "...she swallowed her humiliation and stood by his side amid the sex scandals, because she needed Bill's popularity, connections and political savvy to fulfill her lifelong dream of becoming President.

"They've agreed to end it once and for all if she doesn't capture the White House," a source close to Hillary alleges. "There is no need for this marriage if she doesn't win."

Well, if they say so.

Unfortunately, I was unable to resist the bulk of the other scintillating news bites printed up with eye-catching captions elsewhere in the tabloid rag, either.

A half page article devoted to American Idol winner, Clay Aiken, was a hoot.

In the tell-all piece, Clay Aiken's sexual preferences were questioned; in spite of the fact - he swore up and down - that "nookie" was downright disgustin'.

"No sex, please," he lamented, even though he's not even British!

The newsies found it difficult to fathom a 29 year old guy without "urges".

Likewise, here.

Heh, maybe Clay Aiken is not only super talented, but super inhuman?

Billy Carter has to wonder, "...what, no lust in your heart, either?"

"The only reason to go to those bars is to get drunk and have sex," heart-throb Clay theorized. "To me, bars are what hell is like."

Then, what is heaven like, pray tell? Warbling on American Idol without missing one high note?

Well, you only have to read between the lines: gay!

He didn't even have to mention "show tunes" to figure that out.

A funny scoop was offered up by Tony Randall's widow, too.

Another tidbit about "gayness"...

Gee, homosexuality used to be the love that dare not speak its name; now it appears to be the love people that won't shut up about, eh?

With a straight face, Heather laughed at the idea that people thought Tony was a homo; in spite of the fact he was inclined to effectively play a handful of effeminate roles during the course of his career.

In fact, the fresh-faced lovely went so far as to claim that Tony was such a "stud" - so secure in his masculinity - that he never even suspected people "thought" he was homosexual.

Whoa, Nellie!

Enough of that drivel!

The one titillating piece of gossip that took the cake was the tidbit on Demi Moore and Bruce Willis.

According to the reporter (I use that term loosely) Demi can't sleep nights, afraid that Bruce will end up in the sack, old and lonely.

If that's the case, then why did she divorce him?

According to Ms. Moore, Bruce needs to ditch the b****** and the hot 'n heavy dates with the bevy of young bimbo bombshells he's been bedding.

Date women his own age, you say?

Who? Candice Bergen, or Angie Dickinson - perhaps?

Something tells me, they wouldn't put up with any of that 2nd childhood **it.

By the way, what's the point of dating someone younger, if you can't call "the shots", or use your Machiavellian smarts to maneuver your way - um - on top?

Does the former brat-packer expect us to believe that her 30 year-old stud - Kutcher - doesn't yap at her heels all day, like an adoring pup?

Yeah, come to think of it, the Globe is just a lot of silly, puffed up chatter.

But, I wonder...what kinda' bucks are the tabloid writers raking in, anyway?

Do you think they make more than a blogger?

Maybe it's time to jump ship...

Aw shucks - me, a sex symbol?


For Willis, one sloppy Lewinski - please!
 
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